


I Know My Happy Ending

by Dresupi



Series: Quicktaser Fics [13]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Commoner Pietro, Consensual Sex, Darcy Lewis-centric, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Dates, Fluff and Smut, Fooling Around, Forbidden Love, Hand Jobs, Heavy Petting, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Modern Royalty, Oral Sex, Princes & Princesses, Princess Darcy, Princess/Commoner, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Sneaking Around, Swearing, That term bums me out, Virgin!Darcy Lewis, but there it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6357091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was a princess. He was a bike courier.  Can I make it any more obvious?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ozhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozhawk/gifts).



> Special thanks to heyfrenchfreudiana and miin for their awesome input and beta skills! 
> 
> This is based off a plot bunny given to me by ozhawk, and I really REALLY hope I'm doing it justice! 
> 
> I'll be updating every Friday!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> Look at the awesome coverart [romanoffsbite](http://romanoffsbite.tumblr.com/post/146381280384/i-know-my-happy-ending-dresupi-she-was-a) made for me!!!! Isn't it amazing? :D :D :D (I'm so not worthy, but I love it SO MUCH)

Darcy was nodding off again, her forehead hitting the limousine window with a resounding thump.  She sat up abruptly, rubbing the spot. 

Jasper cleared his throat, eyeing her condescendingly. 

Feeling a little sheepish, she leaned back in the plush seats with a huff.  Smoothing her hands down her front, she started playing with the hem of her dress again.  It had one of those curly lettuce hems.  How was she supposed to keep from playing with it? 

“Princess…” he admonished, his tone quickly moving into the annoyed spectrum.  “Please stop fidgeting.  You’re due at the boat christening in twenty minutes…” he glanced at his watch, swearing not so silently under his breath.  He unbuckled his seatbelt, standing and wobbling his way up to the window that separated them from the driver. 

“Stop that fidgeting now…” Natasha drawled from her laid back position.  Because she could lay back comfortably.  Because she wasn’t wearing Asgardian silk and Belgian Lace.  Because there weren’t a billion titles after HER name that meant absolutely nothing other than you were born with a silver spoon up your ass. “Wouldn’t want to get a crease in your skirt.  Royalty doesn’t crease.  Royalty doesn’t sit,” her green eyes twinkled.    

Darcy rolled her eyes, glancing over at her assistant slash bodyguard.   “Think there’s any way I can rush this?” 

The redhead snorted.  “They want you to do a reading in Latin, bust a bottle of champagne and shake a bunch of hands. It’s _The Frigga_. They’ve been waiting two years and change for this to finally be sea worthy. You’re gonna be two-three hours at LEAST.” 

Darcy groaned, sinking down further in the seat. 

Let her get creases.  Let her get wrinkles.  Let the people of Stanicily see her for what she really was: a giant butt crease on the back of a silk skirt.  Not like anyone would be paying attention with the 1500-foot luxury liner behind her.    

Natasha glanced up to where Jasper was, snapping her fingers.  “Look alive, look alive…” 

Darcy righted herself quickly, ever thankful for Natasha.  She’d been skeptical of her at first.  She didn’t really dig the round-the-clock surveillance that her father seemed to think she needed.  She didn’t really even like having Jasper follow her around. “Advising” her. Advising meant being an utter tight ass about everything and nagging her about manners, right? 

But the Sitwell family had been advising the Lewis line of royalty for generations.  So, she was kind of stuck with the bald stick in the mud. 

Natasha, though.  She’d been a lifeline.  Someone who treated her as an equal and not as someone higher than them. Even if she didn’t really believe it, it was nice to pretend. Darcy got so sick of the hopeful smiles when someone did something for her, expecting a pat on the shoulder or even more.  Nat did almost everything for her and didn’t expect a thing from Darcy in return.  Other than the salary.     

No, Natasha kept watch when she wanted to slump in her chair, or watch trashy television, or play on her phone. Seriously, why did she have one if she couldn’t play games on it?  Since when did being a princess mean she couldn’t have any fun? 

Since always, apparently.  As evidenced by the hall of portraits leading the way to her room at the palace.  Every single face looked constipated and depressed.  Like hell she was going to end up that way.  She’d be the first of the Lewis line to pose for a nude portrait if it meant not becoming old and stodgy like the rest of her lineage.    

Jasper sat down in his seat beside hers.  “I ordered him to hurry.  We can’t be late to the boat christening.” 

“Oh good gods, no.  What would the people think?” Darcy feigned distress. 

Jasper wasn’t exactly amused.  Her advisor turned towards her.  “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.” 

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re my advisor, yes?  Not my mother?” 

“As your advisor, I’m advising you to drop the sarcasm.  It doesn’t look good.”  

She bit her tongue and turned to look out the car window again.  It never did any good to argue with Jasper.  He was always right.  That’s why he was the advisor.  She mentally rolled her eyes. 

She had bets with Natasha as to the nature and species of bug up his ass. 

The city streets whizzed by.  Some of these places she hadn’t even visited.  Twenty-five years old and she still hadn’t gone to the market district. The palace servants sometimes brought things back for her.  Peaches.  Brownies.  One time, this really cool coin bank that looked like a waving cat.  Jasper had it donated when she was on a skiing holiday.  He really was kind of an ass sometimes.  Most times, actually. 

 _But his family…the Sitwell family…_ She had to stifle a snort.  The Sitwell family were a bunch of tight asses who liked to keep everyone from having any kind of fun.  Even her father rolled his eyes behind Collin Sitwell’s back. Collin was Jasper’s father and advisor to the King.  Of course, the son wouldn’t follow in the father’s footsteps.  The most she’d ever be was a princess.  But it was a pretty sweet gig.  If the Armani suits he was always wearing were any indicator. 

She swayed with the limo.  The driver was taking Jasper’s instructions to heart apparently, getting them there faster.  Taking a shortcut on the back streets, it looked like.  She was absently trying to figure out which back streets when she was thrown forward as the driver slammed on the breaks, her seat belt keeping her from spilling into the floor of the limo.  Jasper wasn’t buckled; however, so his stuck up ass was now in the floor.  It would have been funny, except the driver was yelling about something, getting out of the seat and walking around to the front of the vehicle.

“What happened?” she asked no one in particular.  It was just something you said in situations like this. 

“I think he hit someone…” Natasha murmured. 

“What?!  Oh my god…I hope they’re alright…” Darcy reached down to unbuckle her seatbelt. 

“Let me go…assess the damage…” Natasha rose and opened the door. Probably going to check it out and make sure whoever it was wasn’t smeared on the pavement and that it was safe for the princess to come out. 

“Your majesty, you should let me handle this…” Jasper suggested in a voice that sounded more commanding than anything else, scrambling to his feet as he reached for something under one of the seats.  A zippered pouch. The zippered pouch of bribe money.  They usually kept it for the police, if they got pulled over for speeding, or for border patrol when they were country hopping.     

“Let me out to apologize….given there’s still a person to apologize to,” Darcy protested.  They’d hit a guy with the limo!  They couldn’t just throw money at this and make it go away. 

Jasper shook his head, “Absolutely not.  We’re late enough as it is.  I’ll handle this, your Highness.”  He always added the little platitudes so he didn’t appear rude while giving his rude little rules and commands and ultimatums.    

“Nonsense.  I’LL handle it.  It’s my limo that hit them.” 

Natasha reentered the limo just then.  “Bicycle courier.  He’s fine.  Bike’s totaled, though.” 

Jasper nodded tersely, pulling a stack of cash out of the pouch and replacing it where he’d found it.  He made his way to the door amid Darcy’s protests.

“You always say I need to get in touch with the people in the kingdom.  There’s a dude out there who deserves an apology from me and…” 

“And he’s going to get it.  By proxy.  Because we’re late.  No more arguments.”  He climbed out of the car, slamming the door behind him. 

Darcy scrambled up to the window closest to the front so she could try to see what was going on. 

She spied the courier out on the sidewalk, nursing a badly skinned knee.  He looked sweaty, but it WAS the middle of summer, so that was a reasonable thing to be.  

He had brown hair that looked short at first, but when he turned to the side, she realized he had it pulled back into a low ponytail.  A short ponytail, but still a ponytail. 

He was wearing a gray shirt with the S.H.I.E.L.D delivery emblem emblazoned on the front.  She recognized the logo from practically everywhere in the city.  The company was the most popular delivery service apart from the national mail program. 

When she craned her neck, she could just make out his bike behind him, the front part was bent at a nearly ninety-degree angle. 

The courier looked pissed.  Which, she didn’t blame him for.  He’d just been hit with her car for fuck’s sake. 

Jasper extended his hand, closing the wad of cash into the courier’s, who looked down at it like he’d just been given a handful of skunks to dispose of or something. Wrinkling his nose and saying something to Jasper.  Likely something crude given the hand gesture that followed as he pocketed the cash and stood up.  She caught sight of his name, “Pietro”, embroidered on the shirt.  She made a mental note of it.  Maybe she could call his workplace and apologize over the phone for how incredibly rude they were being. 

Darcy sat back in the seat, squeezing her eyes shut. She had seen enough.  She couldn’t sit here and watch Jasper be an asshole for a second longer.  It was too easy for him.  It was his natural state. 

He reentered the limo, taking his seat beside her because he had zero respect for personal space.  He pulled out his phone for an itinerary.  “I’m going to have to call and let them know you’re going to be late…” he sounded annoyed.  Like the presence of pedestrians was abhorrent to him.  It probably was.  Pedestrians were something he couldn’t control.  And Jasper liked to be in control.  “Gods, this is just the very worst thing that could have happened…” 

“Because we hit a guy on a bike?” Natasha asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“What?  Oh, right.  Yeah…of course…” Jasper said absently, swiping through items on the itinerary. 

Darcy tried to look out the window as they drove off, watching as the courier flipped off the limo before hoisting his pretzel of a bike up over one shoulder. 

She tried to catch Natasha’s eye, but her assistant/bodyguard was turned around, staring at him too.  Memorizing his features, most likely.  Just in case he became a problem. 

She crossed her arms over her stomach and slumped down.  She felt sick. 

“Sit up straight, Princess…that’s Asgardian silk, that dress…”  Jasper said absently.  Darcy was starting to think he just had an autopilot mode that was specifically for nagging her about her appearance.    

She rolled her eyes and straightened. 

* * *

 

Pietro swore again.  Loudly. As the black limo zoomed off.  Whoever was inside must be pretty important.  Lucky him. 

He flipped up his middle finger, holding it out towards the car until it disappeared around the corner.  He grabbed his bike, hoisting it up over his shoulder.  He still had a delivery to make.  Nelson and Murdock law offices.  Luckily it was just a certified letter and nothing breakable.  Or he’d be doubly screwed. 

He darted through the crowds as best he could, thanking his past self for not kicking the track training program, because it was definitely paying off now. 

Because that’s why he trained for years to be an Olympic track star.  All that time he spent honing his body, training muscles to do exactly what he wanted them to do.  When he could have been going to college or training for a career.  Because the very MONTH he was set to try out for Stanicily’s Olympic Track and Field team…they’d gone to war.  All the “superfluous” spending had been cut so they could make more bombs.  More guns.  Train more soldiers.  No more national sports teams. 

And here he was, an athlete, wasting his peak years running people’s mail up six flights of stairs faster than anyone else at Shipping and Handling International Expedited Logistics Delivery.  Wasting his peak years learning that fucking acronym.

And then…a year after he’d been told that there wasn’t enough money in the budget for a national sports team, they’d started building that fucking luxury liner.  As a gift.  For the King of Asgard.  To try to sway him to their side of the war.  The fighting was over.  It was the eternal occupation of the country they were occupying that they needed help with. 

And the taxes had gone up to pay for the thing.  The whole ordeal made him sick.

It was shit like that, and what had happened today that made him hate the rich.  The rich with their fancy lawyers to get them out of paying the taxes.  So all the money for that stupid boat had come out of the paychecks of hard working people like him.  The rich with their fancy cars.  Who could HIT A MAN ON A BIKE and stuff a wad of cash into his hand like it hadn’t happened. 

He was fuming, but he made it just in time, dropping off the paperwork and accepting a tip from Karen, who usually giggled and blushed whenever he talked to her.  But he must have looked scary today or something.  She smiled nervously, pressing a larger than normal amount into his hand before he turned to leave.   

He stuck it deep in his pocket, along with the stack of cash he’d received from the man in the limo. Taking the stairs down two at a time, bursting out the lobby door.  He scowled at his bike, shaking his head and hoisting it back up on his back. 

He made his way back to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, intending to drop the bike off in the garage.  He’d ask one of the mechanics later on if it was salvageable.  True, he had a stack of notes in his pocket that would more than cover it, but it had been a nice bike.  He wasn’t sure he could find another he liked as much. 

He was ready to leave it in a corner somewhere when he spotted Clint Barton wiping down his hands on a rag.  His station was empty. 

Most of the mechanics didn’t like working on bikes. They were only paid for the Vespas and the delivery vans, so they usually put the bike couriers off until they ended up fixing them on their own. 

Clint didn’t mind taking a look when he wasn’t busy, though.  Pietro thought it might have to do with the fact that Clint was low-key in love with Wanda…but it wasn’t like he was going to turn down help.  He wasn’t going to help Clint date his sister. 

Piet plopped the twisted metal mess on the ground, holding it up with one hand.  “Can I borrow you for a minute?” 

Clint turned, his eyes widening.  “Whoa…what the hell happened?” 

Pietro shrugged.  “Fell off the curb.” 

“By curb, do you mean the Cliffs of Dover? Because this looks rough.” 

“I fell off the curb…there MAY have been a limousine there…I do not recall…” 

Clint blinked. “Wait…did you get hit by a car?” 

“Perhaps…” 

He blinked, “Okay…are YOU okay?  Do you need to go to the hospital?  Should I call Wanda?”

Pietro had to stifle a snicker.  Clint always found a way to bring her up.  Now that he thought about it, though, he SHOULD probably call his sister to check in.  In case she heard from someone else before he got home from work.  She had an uncanny way of finding out everything before he had a chance to give his side of things.  Kind of annoying, actually.      

“Bah, I’m fine.  I jumped out of the way…the bike did not…” 

“Is your leg bleeding?”

Pietro looked down at his leg.  The one he’d skinned.  It was indeed bleeding.  Dripping down as far as his sock cuff. “It’s a scratch.  Can you help me fix this?” He gestured to the bike. 

“Fix what?  It’s a ball of metal…” 

“I mean…I understand I might have to replace some parts…just tell me what I need to do.” 

The mechanic snorted.  “Okay. Yeah.  You’ll have to replace some parts.  Starting with the wheels.  They’re both bent.  The tires.  Blown.  New chain, obviously…” 

Pietro nodded, “Oh, obviously…” 

“New handlebars…seat’s…surprisingly fine…frame is bent and…” he bent down behind the seat.  “This rear reflector is broken.”  He flicked it, spraying shards of orange plastic on the floor.  “But you know…I think I can help you out…” he leaned down, loosening the seat post from the frame, pulling it up and out.  He held it out to Pietro.  “There.  Replace the rest.”   

“Are you sure?  I thought maybe you could just…hammer this out?” Pietro gestured to the near perfect right angle the frame had been bent into. 

Clint shook his head. “No, Pietro.  I’m sorry…I’m calling it.  Did you get the license plate number of the car?  Maybe you could at least get a couple x-rays and a new bike out of it. Few days off of work?  Do you own a neck brace?  Maybe you should start wearing one.  You know.  Until you get your settlement.” 

Pietro rolled his eyes.  “I don’t sue rich people for money I don’t need.  Besides.  They already paid me a ‘settlement’”.  He tugged the stack of cash out of his pocket.  Not all the way out, but enough for Clint to see. 

“Holy SHIT…who the fuck ran you over?” 

“I didn’t get run over.” 

“Who the fuck hit you with their limo?  Jesus…that’s some…GREEN, man.” 

Pietro lowered his voice “Ten thousand notes.  I know.” 

“Jesus H. Christ and all the fucking saints…ten thousand…what are you going to do with it?”  

He shrugged, “I dunno.  Replace my bike and give the rest to the shelter, probably.” 

“Oh, c’mon, Pietro…Live a little.” 

“I don’t want their blood money.  And I don’t need anything except a new bike, since you refuse to fix mine.” 

“It’s unfixable. And it’s not blood money.  It’s a fucking BRIBE.  Please go to a strip club and donate it to some girl’s G-string…and take me with you when you do…”

Pietro shook his head.  “I don’t want it.  I’m donating it to people who need it.  It will do the most good there.  It fucking slays me that these people have money like this to throw around and there are still homeless and hungry masses lining the streets…” 

Clint sighed, likely knowing there was no arguing with Pietro on the subject.

“Don’t sigh at me.  I’m not going on a tirade.” 

“That’s right.  Because remember my only rule for hanging out in here…” 

“No political tirades in the garage.  Yes.  I know.  I remember.” 

 **“MAXIMOFF!”** The voice echoed off the walls of the garage, making everyone else go quiet.  They both looked up towards the door at the other end of the large room, spotting Coulson at the other end.

“I should go…” Pietro jogged off in the direction of the door, still holding the bike seat in his hand. 

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he approached his boss.  A smile was definitely not on the list of possibilities.  It was eerie.

“You have a visitor…” 

Pietro frowned.  “Who?” 

“Princess Darcy.” 

He snorted, “No really, who?” 

Coulson pushed him through the door, through the main lobby and back to his office, taking the bike seat from his hand in the process.  Couriers didn’t go to Coulson’s office unless they were about to get promoted, or be fired. 

Pietro couldn’t think of a reason for either scenario, so he was left in the dark until they reached the door with the fake brass plaque on the door that read “Manager”.  He stumbled through the door frame, tripping over his shoes and skidding to a halt in front of a startled looking brunette and an unphased redhead who was loudly popping a piece of bubblegum. 

“Pietro Maximoff…” Coulson said quietly.  “Princess Darcy, of House Lewis. First of her name.” 

She was wearing a mint green dress.  Looked expensive.  Silk or satin or whatever overpriced fabric the aristocracy was knee-deep in these days.  Long silky brown hair.  Utterly flawless complexion.  In short, exactly like every picture he’d ever seen of her. 

She pressed her full lips together, rolling her eyes, “Just Darcy is fine…none of that Game of Thrones crap, please…” 

“My apologies, your Highness…” Coulson bowed his head and the princess again appeared flustered. 

Pietro crossed his arms defensively in front of his chest.  Not to worry, she wouldn’t get any of that fake crap from him. 

“Mr. Maximoff?” she turned towards him, walking closer, reaching for his hand.  He was so surprised, he let her take it, clasp his greasy, rough hand in hers.  Smooth.  Clean.  A lovely shade of peach.  Manicured, but chipped nails.  “I am so sorry about what happened earlier…you have to believe me…if I had been able, I would have stopped and spoken with you myself…” 

He frowned, “Pardon?” 

“When my driver hit you?  I really am so sorry.  If there’s anything, ANYTHING I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask…” 

_Oh holy shit.  I got run over by royalty. A fucking princess no less._

“My bike,” he blurted, wanting to rake her over the coals for ruining his bike.  His trusty, broken in bike that had never failed him.  Not once. 

She looked surprised, her mouth forming a silent ‘o’.  “Oh gods…I had assumed my advisor gave you enough notes for another bike…” she reached behind her, holding her open hand out as the redhead leaned up to whisper in her ear.  “Oh, I see…ten thousand notes?  How much more do you need for a new bike?” 

He snorted in laughter before he realized she was serious.  She had her checkbook out.  Her mother fucking checkbook.  It was embossed with the Lewis family crest.  Pink leather.  Jesus Christ.  She thought bikes cost more than ten thousand notes. 

“It is just a bike. No more than seventy-five notes for a bike…” he said, shrugging.  Trying not to sound ungrateful or like he was trying not to laugh.    

“Oh.  Well…then you’ll have some leftover…” her cheeks were red, she chewed on her bottom lip.    

“I’m giving it to the shelter.  On Blaine Street.”  He didn’t know why he was telling her this.  Maybe to prove that he wasn’t going to spend it on beer or drugs or whatever. 

“A homeless shelter?” she turned towards the redhead for confirmation, which she received as a sharp nod.  “That sounds…like a worthwhile donation.” She smiled widely.  “Tell you what…I’ll double the amount you were going to donate…in your name…and you keep the rest of the ten thousand notes…” 

The door burst open just then, cameras flashing at an almost blinding speed as Coulson tried to push the door closed.  The reality of what this actually was started to sink in as the princess hurriedly made out the check for twenty thousand notes, leaving it blank and pressing it into his hand amid the flashes of the cameras. 

The door closed with a click and his boss slid the lock into place, apologizing profusely for something that wasn’t even his fault. 

Pietro chuckled darkly.  “Is that all this was?  A photo op?  Am I going to be posted on the front page of the paper tomorrow instead of the latest new bullshit your idiot father is forcing on us?  Am I a fluff piece?  Because fuck that, ‘your highness…’” He tore up the check into tiny pink pieces, throwing it up in the air like rose petals.  The pieces fluttered down to Coulson’s linoleum floor as Princess Darcy stood there staring at him with her mouth open.  She blinked a few times. 

The redhead was standing, hand on her hip, where Pietro realized she was keeping a concealed weapon.  Ready to shoot him because he’d thrown paper in the princess’ face.  So fucking typical.  A real threat to national security for sure. 

Darcy’s arm was out in front of her immediately.  “He threw pieces of paper, calm down…” she turned back to Pietro, “Natasha gets excited easily…especially when people throw things at me…”  “Natasha” took her hand off her hip, but she didn’t look any less pissed. 

Darcy wrapped her arms around her waist, taking a few steps closer to him.  Close enough that he could smell her.  She smelled like expensive perfume and lotion.  Peppermint and a hint of alcohol on her breath.  Not much, but enough to surprise the hell out of him.  “Look…I’m supposed to be at a boat christening right now.  _The Frigga_?”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.  Of course he fucking knew _The Frigga_.  The fucking eyesore had been blocking the harbor for two years during its construction.  Keeping out the freight ships that had been supplying the troops and refugee camps with food and fresh water during the occupation.

Of fucking course she was christening that gigantic piece of shit. 

“Well, I snuck away, because fuck that mess…and I’m kind of…not supposed to be doing stuff like that.  But, I didn’t like how my advisor treated you this afternoon.  So I’m here.  And they…” she gestured vaguely outside the door.  “Must have followed me.  I’m sorry.  I legit didn’t come here for a photo op.  I wanted to apologize for my driver hitting you.  And for my advisor being a dick…” 

Pietro didn’t say anything.  He couldn’t.  Not when he’d put his foot so far into his mouth. 

“So…if you want…I’ll rewrite that check.  Do you want?” 

He bit his lip hard, wanting to shake his head no.  Turn and leave the fucking office.  But the images of all those families at the shelter.  Sleeping on the floor because there weren’t enough beds.  Eating saltines and peanut butter for every meal. The near thirty thousand notes could buy a lot of things.  New beds.  Washing machines.  Food.  A donation like this would have made things so much easier when he and Wanda had been living there.  It hadn’t been so long ago.  Between losing his status as an Olympic athlete and finding the job at S.H.I.E.L.D.   

He nodded indiscriminately.  “Make it out to ‘New Beginnings’,” he said quietly.  “That’s the name of the non-profit that funds the shelter.” 

She nodded, immediately filling out the check.  “I’ll put Blaine Street shelter in the memo…” 

She handed it over to him.  His hand brushed hers again, making his whole forearm erupt in goosebumps.  He folded the check in half, stuffing it in his pocket with the cash and rubbing his forearm absently. 

“I want to do something for you too…can I take you to lunch tomorrow?” she asked quietly, tentatively.  Almost too quiet to hear. 

His mouth opened.  “I—uh…I have work tomorrow.” He shrugged.  “I have to work.  To…uh…live.” 

“But he has tomorrow off, because he got hit by a car today,” Coulson piped in from behind him. 

Pietro jumped, he’d almost forgotten he was there.  He glared back at his boss.  “I’m really fine.” 

“I really don’t care.  It’s policy.  You can’t work for two days after an accident like that.” 

He was about to call bullshit when Darcy caught his attention again.  She smiled. A brilliant smile that really lit up her face.  It took her from stuck up snob to possible girl-next-door.  The stock photo kind, but still.  “Where would you like to go?” 

He shrugged, rattling off the name of a burger place/bar near his house.  A pub.  It was a dive.  She probably wouldn’t want to be seen there.

She looked surprised, but agreed.  Shaking his hand firmly.  “I’ll see you tomorrow around say…one o’clock?” 

He didn’t know what else to do other than nod. 

She seemed pleased with herself.  Her bodyguard rushed her from the room then, going out the back way as Coulson pointed. 

Pietro was still a little in shock when Coulson returned. 

He didn’t speak to him at first, sitting down at his desk and rifling through some paperwork, sliding an accident report towards Pietro to sign, initial and date. 

“You know, Maximoff, a general rule of thumb is, if a pretty girl asks you out, you say yes.” 

Pietro rolled his eyes.  “Doesn’t count if she’s a princess.” 

“She might be a princess, but last time I checked, she’s still a pretty girl.” 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some Wanda in this chapter...
> 
> And Pietro makes an ass of himself. 
> 
> Also, I don't think I mentioned this in the last chapter, but...the country that Darcy is Princess of? Stanicily. Made up. Like Cicily. But with more Stan Lee. :P *nerdy laugh* 
> 
> Anyway...I hope you all enjoy this update! See you next week!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to heyfrenchfreudiana and miin for all their help with this chapter! :D

“You know there’s no way in hell you’re making it to that burger place in thirty minutes, don’t you?” Natasha drawled from her perch on Darcy’s arm chair.  She spun and laid back across it sideways, swiping around on her phone. 

Darcy gave her hair a final brush, inspecting her makeup in the mirror.  “Yes I will.  How’s my face?”

Natasha looked over at her, giving her a once over.  “Looks good.  But Jasper isn’t going to let you leave looking like that. Especially after the disaster that was the boat christening.” 

Disaster was a strong word for what had happened.  It wasn’t so much a disaster as a gradual crumbling of everything that culminated in a slight sinkhole where Jasper’s hopes and dreams once resided. It had started when Darcy snuck out to apologize to Pietro.  She’d unknowingly taken half of the press with her, so what press coverage there WAS of the christening had been of the protesters.  Definitely not the shots of her sipping champagne with the Crown Prince of Asgard.  Prince Thor had apparently been disappointed when she was nowhere to be found. 

Jasper had been banking on those shots to make everyone excited at the prospect of a possible royal wedding.  Because if they stood next to each other, they were obviously dating, right?  Darcy wasn’t exactly upset about the failure of THAT particular plan. 

But there was the little problem of her trek into downtown. To a SHIELD delivery package center no less. Of course the tabloids had run rampant, starting a rumor mill that included everything from an illicit affair to a possible part time job (since the treasury was so empty and she loved her Versace).  All of which was complete and utter nonsense.  Fluff pieces that would blow over in a few days.  She preferred them to the rumor that she and Prince Thor were engaged or something of permanence.

_Something that could easily be true if Dad’s advisor thinks it’s a good idea…_

She tried to push that thought out of her mind.  An alliance marriage hadn’t been a subject that anyone had brought up and Darcy wasn’t about to worry about something that might never happen.   

“You know what?  Screw Jasper.  I look good…almost unrecognizable…and that…whole…thing was a disaster before I left.  He should have known there would be protesters. It’s not like they’ve been quiet about it before…” 

Her bodyguard rolled her eyes.  “Well, he’s eating lunch down in the kitchen right now, if you want to make it out, we’re going to have to go.” 

Darcy grabbed her purse and followed Natasha out into the hall.  Down the stairs, up the long entryway and right out the front door to the car that was waiting. 

“It scares me a little that you know when Jasper eats lunch.” 

“I know when he does everything.  It’s my job.” 

“You’re a little creepy sometimes, Natasha…just saying.” 

“Hey.  Don’t knock my methods.  Got you out under the radar, didn’t I?” 

Darcy shrugged and ducked into the car, Natasha taking the wheel.  She’d opted for something a little less glitzy than a stretch limo.  Plus…it was at the mechanic’s, getting the scuffs from Pietro’s bike buffed out. 

Not Pietro.  Mr. Maximoff.  She definitely shouldn’t get used to referring to him by his first name.  Nope.  That did not seem like a good idea at all. 

 

Natasha sighed and started the car, pulling the seat belt across her lap.  She hadn’t 100% been on board with her little lunch date this afternoon.  Something about possible lawsuits and admitting guilt or something. 

The truth of it was…they were guilty.  And if he decided to sue them, he’d have every right to. 

Natasha didn’t see that as a comforting thought, though. 

Besides, there wasn’t reason to worry.  He hadn’t given Darcy the vibe that he was looking to sue her.  He’d given her the vibe that he didn’t like her.  Even after she’d apologized and donated money to that homeless shelter.  And that bothered her more than anything.  The thought that someone didn’t like her based on nothing more than what her last name was. 

Jasper said that she was too out of touch with her people. Her response was to offer to do community service at some of the shelters.  The after school programs.  Surely there were some babies that needed holding somewhere.  Kittens and puppies that needed hugs and petting. 

Unfortunately, her idea of getting in touch with the citizens of Stanicily wasn’t Jasper’s idea.  Not even close. 

That stupid boat christening had been the first step. 

She was apparently less out of touch with the people than he was.  She read the news.  Or had it delivered with her breakfast and skimmed the headlines when she couldn’t reach the remote. 

And if SHE knew that people hated that huge turd in the harbor made with the sweat, blood, tears and tax dollars of the Stanicilians, then it must be really fucking well known. 

So she stood by her decision to sneak off to meet a bike courier for lunch in a part of town she’d never even set foot in before.  She was going to raise her approval rating.  One disgruntled citizen at a time.  One disgruntled, muscular citizen at a time.    

Darcy had even dressed down for the occasion.  She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.  And a pair of Asgardian leather boots.  She was dressing down.  It didn’t mean she had to wear trash. 

“We need to come up with a signal…in case I say something stupid like yesterday…” Darcy mused, her face reddening in memory of her suggestion that a bike costed more than ten thousand notes.  But honestly, how was she supposed to know something like that? 

Natasha snorted, “How about I smack you on the back of the head?” 

“No.  That’s too obvious…” Darcy rolled her eyes.  “Why don’t you do something more subtle?  Like sticking a dunce cap on my head?” 

“See…I forgot my dunce cap at home.  Wish you’d brought this up earlier…”

“Nat…” 

“Fine.  Fine…How about I cough and you change the subject?” 

“That could work…”  she propped her feet up on the dash, contemplating the repercussions of a cough.  Because what if Natasha sucked something down her windpipe and started coughing for real?  Darcy could be talking about something as mundane as the weather and then keep changing the subject like an idiot. 

Natasha’s chuckle brought her out of her thoughts.  “You like this guy.” 

Darcy snorted.  Loudly.  Twice. “NO.  No I don’t…I just…don’t want to look like an idiot, that’s all.” 

“You don’t want to look like an idiot because you like him.” 

“What are you?  Twelve?” 

“Okay.  You want him to bone you.” 

Darcy swatted Natasha’s arm.  “I do not.” 

“I think the lady doth protest too much…” 

“Whatever.  You can think what you want.  I don’t want him to bone me.  God.”  She could literally feel her face growing red.  

Because she hadn’t been thinking about that.  Nope.  Not at all.  She hadn’t been thinking about his muscles and his veiny forearms and that really cute little ponytail and how his hair looked so soft and fluffy.  Or how his eyes were so clear blue that she could easily get lost in them.  Like an ocean…or a deep blue sky… 

She definitely wasn’t thinking about him in that way.  Because it wasn’t like she’d know what to think about anyway.  She could imagine, yes…but…

“You do too.  You want a scruffy bike messenger to take you against a brick wall.  You can’t fool me.  Hell.  Even I was thinking about it.  He’s not half bad, you know…” 

“Shut up…” Darcy swatted her again.  A little harder than before.  Because she wasn’t thinking about him like that and it was rude of Natasha to suggest something to that effect. 

It definitely wasn’t because she secretly didn’t want Natasha to look at him that way.  Because Natasha was really pretty.  And more importantly, she didn’t have certain…”obligations” that royals tended to have.  In other words, Natasha had a chance with him and Darcy didn’t think she could stand to see it happen. 

Not that she would actually see it happen.  It wasn’t like she and Natasha were friends outside of work.  Nat had two days off where she went and did things with her real friends.  Had her real life. 

This whole friendship with Darcy was just a pretend thing that she did so she didn’t hate her job.  Darcy knew that.  She’d never had a real friend who wasn’t on the payroll.  Or whose parent wasn’t on the payroll. 

But she didn’t want to think about it happening regardless. 

“Calm down, Darce…sheesh, I’m not gonna steal your man…” Natasha waggled her eyebrows knowingly. “I’ll even keep watch while he does you against the wall.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, looking out the window to hide the surely fire engine hue her skin had taken on.   

“He would, I bet.  If you asked him.  I bet he’d give his left leg to be with you.” 

“To deflower the princess?  Yeah, I’m sure he would.  And then he’d blab all over to whoever would listen about how he screwed Princess Darcy like her dad screwed the whole nation…no thank you.” 

“That’s not what I meant…” Natasha said quietly.  “I mean because you’re really pretty and—“

And completely unexperienced.  And naïve.   

“Just…just save it, Natasha.  I already feel stupid enough.   I know I’m not the most beautiful woman in the world.  I’m no…Aphrodite.  Or Helen of Troy.  I’m just me and if my dad wasn’t the king…I’d just be…”

She didn’t know what she’d be.  She didn’t know if she was actually pretty or not.  She knew a lot of women spent a lot of money to buy the same clothes she wore.  To get their hair cut like hers. 

But did that mean she was pretty?  Or that they envied her?  More importantly, did Pietro think she was pretty?  Was that the only thing that was bothering her?  Was she really this shallow? 

Mom always said that beauty was in the eye of the beholder.  So, if the beholder was the people of the nation…then…maybe she was?  Was envy the same as admiration?  Maybe just the darker version? Did he agree with everyone else?  He didn’t seem to care much for her at all the day before. 

“I’m sorry…” Natasha blurted, interrupting her thoughts.  “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to upset you.  I was just teasing you.  That’s all.” 

Darcy nodded, taking a deep breath to school her features.  Force the blush from her cheeks.  Erase the images that now flooded her mind.  She tugged down on her t-shirt.    

“You are pretty, though.  Not just because of who you are.” 

She nodded again, staring out the window, wishing for once she could get an honest opinion from someone that she could trust.  Natasha wasn’t untrustworthy per se, but she was Darcy’s assistant/body guard.  Her job was to keep Darcy safe and to organize her life.  So just like every compliment uttered by anyone in her life ever, she took it with a grain of salt. 

* * *

 

He’d started out that morning with a groan, smacking his alarm clock because he’d forgotten to turn it off.

He got up, cracking his back and heading out to the living room.  Wanda was puttering around in the kitchen, just now getting home from her shift at the restaurant.  At 6 am. 

“I thought you said you weren’t working today…” she mumbled, pouring cereal into a bowl.  She offered the box, but he shook his head. 

“Nah.  I need to start eating better…” he opened the fridge, “Why don’t we have any food?” 

Wanda grumbled under her breath, “I have been working third shift.  And you never go to the store.  Why WOULD we have any food?” 

“Fine…I’ll go to the store.  Write a list.” 

“You’re the one who wants to eat better, YOU write the list.” 

“Why are you in a mood?” he asked, shutting the fridge door and grabbing the box of cereal from the counter, reaching in to pick out marshmallows. 

She sighed, “I had a shitty night.  All I have are shitty nights.” 

“Do you need your big brother to come kick some ass?”    She rolled her eyes.  “What?  I’m twelve minutes older.  And I’m taller than you.  And I’ve kicked ass for you before.” 

She smirked, “And I lost my job.  Which is why I’m working third shift now.  So, please…spare me your brand of help, Pietro.” 

He folded his arms across his chest.  That douche had it coming…just because he was the general manager of a mediocre diner.  But Pietro didn’t care WHO it was, no one called his sister… _THAT WORD_ and got away with it. Especially someone who wanted to keep all their teeth. 

 “Okay…so what happened?”  He slid into a stool beside her.  “Promise I won’t kick anything. Or anyone.” 

She ate a few spoonfuls of cereal before answering him.  “I was short.  A table dined and dashed. I had to pay the check out of my tips.” 

“Did you have enough?” 

“I still owe them forty notes…” 

He got up, walking over to the box on the mantle where he’d stuffed the notes from the day before. 

“No, Pietro…you don’t have to…” She responded immediately.  Like she knew what he was about to do or something. She probably did.  He always thought she had a sixth sense for that kind of thing. 

Or he was just really predictable.   

“How much was it?  The check?  I’ll cover it.” 

“Pietro, no.  That’s your ‘getting run over’ money…” 

“Yes.  And I didn’t get run over.  I got hit.  Let me do this.  How much was it?” 

“One hundred and ten notes…” she said quietly, looking down at her hands.  He counted off the notes from the top of the stack.  “I’m taking food from the mouths of homeless people…” 

“Not yet you aren’t.  Still my money.  And like you haven’t helped me before…” he scoffed.  “Just glad I can actually do it.” 

She stuffed the money into her purse and plopped back down at the counter to finish her cereal.  She swung her leg, leaning over on her hand. “Maybe I should do tarot readings again…” she mused.  “I don’t like doing it for money, but I really need to start earning my keep around here…it’s pretty much the only thing I’m good at…”    

“Wanda…I make enough to pay for everything, please don’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with…it’s not the only thing you’re good at.”

“Pietro…if we’re ever going to get ahead, we have to do more than just get by…” 

“There isn’t more than that, _Beruska_.  We’re lucky we aren’t in one of those homeless shelters anymore.” 

“Lucky to not be homeless.  Sure.  I guess…” she snapped, standing abruptly and walking over to rinse out her bowl in the sink. 

Pietro sighed, “Wanda, I’m just trying to make you feel better about—“ 

“About what?  Being a miserable failure?” 

“I’m the one who lost your last job for you…” 

“And who lost the one before that?  Hmm?  And who lost the one before that?  Who is so weird that she can’t seem to work any retail or food service job?  And when that’s the only option available to HER…that kind of is the DEFINITION of a failure, right?” 

“Wanda…” 

“I’m going to bed.  I’ll see you later…”  she stomped out of the kitchen and Pietro felt like punching something.  Because she wasn’t weird. 

Well, she was. 

But why the hell should she be made to feel bad about it? 

Of course, punching something wasn’t going to make anything better, and then he’d just have to spend his day off fixing whatever he punched. 

“I’ve got a lunch date with the princess later…” he called, opting for levity. 

She didn’t answer for a long moment and Pietro was worried she was actually mad at him, and not just mad in general. “Right, and I’m having coffee with the Queen,” she called from her bedroom.

He chuckled. “No really, I am.”

“Where are you going?” 

“Just down to the pub.” 

“Have a few beers.  You’re nicer drunk than sober.” 

“Thanks…”

Wanda appeared in the doorway.  “You’re not going to make an ass of yourself, are you?” 

“Why would you care?” He plopped down on the couch. 

“I know you don’t like…I know you don’t hold any respect for people like her.  But from what you told me last night...she’s probably just trying to do the right thing.  Don’t be an ass and discourage that behavior…” 

“You act like this is a dog or something.” 

Wanda shrugged.  “Younger generation of aristocrat.  Might as well be a dog. If a dog could make decisions for our country at some point in its miserable life.”

“How eloquent.” 

“Just…don’t be…confrontational with her.  Not like you were yesterday.” 

“How do you even know what I was yesterday?  You weren’t there.” 

“You told me that you ripped up her check and threw it in her face.” 

Pietro scoffed.  “Barely threw it.  It was paper.” 

Wanda straightened and turned to go back into her room.  “I’m just warning you is all.” 

“Fine, I’ll be on my best behavior, MOM.” 

“Thank you.  That is all I ask…” she smirked and disappeared into her room.       

* * *

Darcy and Natasha arrived outside the restaurant a couple minutes late.  As she climbed out of the car, she checked her reflection in the car window.  She looked…normal.  Felt normal, anyway.  It was nice.   

Natasha went in first, scanning the room and spotting Pietro…Mr. Maximoff… over by the back wall.  He was alone, had his leg propped up in a chair. Two empty pilsner glasses in front of him, and a third half full. He quickly pulled his leg out of the seat when they approached, scrambling to his feet. 

Darcy guessed he was trying to be polite, and so she smiled as she pulled out the chair, sitting down on it cautiously because it honestly looked flimsy enough to buckle under her weight.  And wouldn’t that just be the perfect way to start out this meeting?  Falling on her ass on a dirty pub floor. 

It wobbled.  One of the legs was uneven.  So instead of crossing her ankles, she had to plant both feet firmly on the ground. 

He plopped back down in his chair without grace, scooting it noisily up to the table. 

Darcy glanced over at Natasha, who took that as her queue to take a seat a few tables down. 

“Hello…” she greeted him, extending her hand. 

He took it, nodding once.  “Hello…I uh…did not expect you to show up, honestly.” 

“I always keep my appointments.” 

“I see that…” 

He still had her hand, which she glanced down at once before he dropped it like a hot pan.  His cheeks reddened and he wiped both hands on his lap, glancing around.  “No photographers today?” he asked abruptly.   

She shook her head, “No.  Are you disappointed?” 

“Surprised, more like…” 

She swallowed her retort, resolving to be polite even if he wasn’t.  “I don’t see why they would want to be here…there’s not much of a story…” 

“The Princess of Stanicily in a greasy burger joint with a greasy loser?  I think that might actually be front page news.” 

She set her jaw.  “I guess you must have seen today’s tabloids then…” 

“Tell me, who IS your illicit affair?  My boss?  Or me?  Or perhaps the receptionist?” 

Darcy sighed, “It’s one of the side effects of being…recognized.”    

He snorted, “I’ve got a great headline: ‘Royalty…they’re just like us.  They bribe the men they hit with their cars AND eat local’.”

“To be fair…I didn’t bribe you, my advisor did.” 

“Well you didn’t say THAT!  That changes everything.”  He picked up the beer in front of him, swigging messily from it.   

Darcy took a deep breath, resolving to right this derailing train of a lunch.  “I uh…see you started without me.” 

“Trust me, this is for the best. You wouldn’t want to hear what I have to say to you sober.” 

She pressed her lips together, trying not to take it personally.  Except it was hard not to.  “Would you rather I just...put some money on the table and left?  Because I can do that.” 

“No, no…” he boomed, gesturing to the chair she was already sitting in.  “Sit down.  Please.  Stay.  Have some fun, eh?  Remove the royal scepter from your ass and live a little, Princess.” 

She blinked a couple times.  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blab that to everyone in the room…” 

His eyebrows shot up, “I’m so sorry…” he shout-whispered.  “Is that a secret?  Is this a secret meeting?  In a restaurant where nobody EVER goes?” 

“I just…I don’t want to make a scene.” 

He laughed, “Your whole LIFE is a scene.  None of it is real.  You play your part, you say your lines, and you go home alone because you’re not real.  You’re not a real person underneath the designer clothes and the pancake makeup…you’re fake.  And you know it.  And you do things like this…you…throw money around, donating it to homeless shelters and spending time with a guy like me…you do these things to try to feel like a real person for a few hours.  To convince yourself…that there’s a heart beating somewhere under all the silk and the satin, and the pearls…”  he spat the last word like it tasted bad. 

And maybe it was because what he said hit a little close to home.  Or maybe it was because he’d been nothing but a rude drunk the whole time she’d been here.  Or maybe it was because Jasper was actually right, and she shouldn’t have interfered in something that was already taken care of. 

And she fucking HATED it when Jasper was right.

She stood, fumbling in her purse for her wallet.  Pulling out a handful of notes.  Too many to pay for his beer, she was certain.  But fuck him.  Fuck him. 

Her chin was wobbling as she threw it on the table.  She wanted to scream at him. Wanted to hit him.  Slap that stupid self-assured smirk off his stupid face. 

“Reality is relative.”  She bit out the words painfully.  “Maybe I’m not real.  Maybe you’re right.  If reality means meaningful relationships, friends, love or whatever.  Then you’re right. My life is a great big schedule.  Everything I do is planned.  And no, that isn’t a real life.”  The smirk fell from his face as she continued, “But if being real is being what YOU are, a bitter…horrible…UGLY person.  Then fuck reality.  It looks like too much work to hate everything as much as you seem to.  I’m fine with being a figment of your imagination.”

She shouldered her bag and stormed out, stomping out onto the sidewalk and trying to remember where the hell Nat had parked the car. 

The redhead appeared at her arm, tugging her elbow as they crossed the street. 

It was good that she was leading her, because Darcy had tears and mascara clouding her vision by the time they stepped into the road. 

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” she sobbed, accepting the handkerchief Natasha handed her. 

“Because you’re mad.  You’re an angry crier.” 

Darcy tried to accept that.  She was mad.  He’d said some terrible things to her.  And maybe there was some truth in it.  Maybe THAT’S why she was crying. 

She dabbed at her eyes and set her jaw.  Because damn if she was going to let some…bike messenger make her feel less than.  She had the means to make him wrong.  And she was going to, dammit. 

Let him sit there on his wobbly throne and sip his draft beer and feel superior.  Because if there was something she loved more than a challenge, she didn’t want to know what it was. 

And his stupid face and his stupid fluffy hair and his stupid arms could just deal with it.  

* * *

 

He’d just told off a princess. 

She shouldered her bag and stormed out.  Her words ringing in his ears.  Ricocheting around in his brain like a rogue ping pong ball.

It was something he’d been thinking about for a long time.  Telling one of the privileged class where they could shove their taxes.  A little bit of a fantasy that he used to entertain during the many sleepless nights in the shelter.  During the years growing up in the state run orphanage.  Every single day on the pull up bar in his room.  On the track at the park when he ran laps.  He’d curse them in his head.  Imaginary conversations that never amounted to anything except fuel for his hatred, which was fuel to run on.   

But judging from the way his stomach was churning, it wasn’t the huge victory he’d expected.  No, it was the small, piddling victory you might expect from kicking a puppy into a puddle.  Sure, maybe that puppy had shit on your front porch and then you stepped in it…but at the end of the day, YOU were the jerk kicking a puppy.   

Her bodyguard approached and he half expected her to punch him in the face.  He accepted his fate, he deserved it. 

Instead, she smirked and shook her head.  “You’re a fucking mess.” 

Pietro raised his eyebrows, trying to think of a retort, but she was already leaving.  Following the princess out onto the sidewalk. 

He slumped forward on the table, cradling his already aching head in his hands.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Thanks for reading! :D


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But she won't discover that it's him, till chapter three..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo! I didn't think I was going to be able to post this today. But here it is! :D 
> 
> More adorableness in this chapter. 
> 
> Or at least, I hope it's adorable! :D
> 
> Special thanks to heyfrenchfreudiana for beta-ing this chapter for me! 
> 
> Great news, for the "Sokovian" words that Wanda and Pietro use, you can hover your mouse over the word to get a translation. (It's a combination of Czech and Serbian, aided by a few websites and google translate). Unfortunately, this only works on PCs, it won't work on phones or tablets. For those, you'll have to scroll down like a common peasant for the translation. So sorry! :/

He slammed the door to his bedroom, making his way through the living room and kitchen, all the way to the laundry room.  Not so much a room as a closet off the kitchen. He dug through the dryer to find a work shirt. 

Wanda was seated at the counter, the newspaper spread out in front of her as she ate her cereal. 

“Your girlfriend is in the paper again…” she said with a slight snicker, tapping on a full color print of Darcy’s smiling face.  Surrounded by puppies.    

“Shut. Up,” he groaned.  The whole princess debacle was something he’d rather forget.  But it felt like he was reminded of her wherever he looked.  On the news.  In the paper.    For the past three weeks, he hadn’t been able to get Darcy out of his head. 

The princess.  She was just the princess. He constantly had to remind himself.  He didn’t know her as Darcy.  He didn’t even really know her.  This was the media’s version of her.     

He emerged victorious from the dryer with a shirt, pulling it on over his head, fully intending to leave as soon as he was dressed.  He could grab breakfast on the way to work or something. 

The less time around Wanda, the better.  She was adept at picking out his weaknesses and running with them.  Of course, they usually required more digging to find.  He was fairly certain this one was written plainly across his face every time he SAW Princess Darcy.    

“She looks good…she’s volunteering at the animal shelter…aww…we should get a dog.” 

Pietro rolled his eyes, “Because we can barely feed ourselves.  But sure.  We need a dog.” 

Wanda pulled her leg up into the seat with her. “I still can’t believe you had a date with a princess and blew it…” 

He swiped the box of cereal, pulling out a few Cheerios and popping them into his mouth. “It wasn’t a date.  It was a…meeting.  And it did not go well…but that was no one’s fault.” He shrugged. 

“No one’s fault but yours…” she muttered.

“Quiet, you…” he flicked a piece of cereal into her hair.   

“I’m just SAYING….” She shook it out with a glare.  “You haven’t dated anyone in a while.” 

“Weren’t you the one complaining that I’d bring home one woman and then a different one would be here in the morning?”   

“Well, at least THEN you weren’t a sad little PUPPY moping around here all the time bemoaning your existence,” she retorted. 

“I don’t mope.  I’ve never bemoaned anything.  And we’re not getting a dog, so stop bringing it up.” 

“Fine…” she closed the paper and took a sip of her tea.  “Do you want breakfast?”  She nodded towards the cereal box in his hands.  “I can put that in a bowl.” 

He set it back on the counter. “I’ll pick something up,” he took his wallet out of the bowl on the counter, shoving it into his back pocket.   

“What about lunch?” 

He shrugged, “I’ll figure it out.” 

She sighed and got up from her stool. 

He groaned, “No, don’t.  You don’t have to do anything.” 

“I’m at least going to make you a sandwich…I can handle bread and cheese.” 

“And mustard?” he added, grinning widely. 

“ _Blbechek_ …” she muttered under her breath. 

“I heard that.” 

“Congratulations. That’s why I said it out loud.” 

She handed him the sandwich, all zip-locked and ready to go.  He wrapped his arms around her, picking her up and spinning her around once before setting her back down.  She was unfazed.

“Are you working tonight?” he asked. 

“Yes.  Working tonight.  Off tomorrow.” 

He pouted.  “I’m volunteering tomorrow…I won’t get to see you.” 

“Are you finally going back? I’m sure they missed you…”

“I can stay home, if you want…” 

For some reason, he’d been finding all kinds of reasons to not go complete the volunteer work he usually LOVED doing.  He hadn’t been to the homeless shelter since he made the huge donation.  And the soup kitchen had been calling him for weeks.  He couldn’t really explain it.  Just not in the giving sort of mood lately. 

Maybe he HAD been moping. Just a little. 

“No, no.  Go volunteer, Saturday is the…shelter?” 

“Soup kitchen.” 

She nodded, “RIGHT.  Yes…go do that.  I won’t be home anyway…” She sat up a little straighter, barely containing a wide grin.  “Ask me what I’m doing.” 

He crossed his arms and leaned against the stove.  ‘Wanda, what are YOUR plans for tomorrow?” 

“I have a date.  Ask me with whom.”

“Who is your date?  Preferably first, middle and last name so I can run a background check.”

She shot him a look.  “You already know him.  It’s your mechanic friend.  The blonde one?  Clint?”   

Pietro laughed, “Oh wow.  He finally asked you out?” 

She grinned.  “He came up to the restaurant.  He brought me flowers.”

“That’s adorable.  I’ll talk to him at work today,” he kept his tone saccharine.  Even if he was teasing her.  Clint was a good guy.  He couldn’t have chosen a better one himself.  “It makes it easier that he works with me, you know.  I’ll have access to his personnel file.  I bet I could get him to pee in a cup.  And agree to a cheek swab for skin cells…also…does he know about your curfew?  About how you have to be home a half hour before you leave?” 

She reached out and smacked his arm loudly, the sound almost echoing in the kitchen.  He chortled and rubbed his shoulder, because if he was being honest, it kind of hurt. 

“Don’t you DARE scare him off, Pietro!”    

* * *

 

He didn’t scare Clint off.  Not completely. 

Pietro DID, however, tease the hell out of him for the whole day at work. 

“You know…everyone says that Wanda and I have the same eyes.  So…perhaps you could think about that when you’re gazing into hers tomorrow night.” 

Clint groaned, “God, shut up, Pietro.  You guys DON’T have the same eyes.” 

“Oh.  So you’ve been looking…” he arched an eyebrow.  “Like what you see, Lover Boy?” 

Clint rolled his eyes and picked at the chicken salad wrap in front of him.  “Totally. Your work uniform really makes them stand out.” 

“Karen Page over at Nelson & Murdock seems to think so…” Pietro leaned back in the chair, propping his legs in the one beside him. 

Clint raised his eyebrows.  “Really?  Is that a thing now?” 

He shrugged, “Not sure.” 

It wasn’t.  He didn’t see her anywhere other than the occasional deliveries that he dropped off at the law firm.  Plus, it looked like she was already attached.  But, he was hoping Clint would be a big mouth and let it slip to Wanda that he was seeing someone.  Just so she’d stop with the “Princess Girlfriend” talk. 

He picked at the sandwich in front of him. 

“Ehh…forget her.  You’re Pietro Maximoff. You could probably have a date with any girl you wanted.  You had one with the fucking PRINCESS, man.  Of course, you blew it.  But you GOT the date.  That’s all that matters.” 

Pietro sighed.  “When is everyone going to stop bringing that up?  It wasn’t a date, so I didn’t blow it.” 

Clint chuckled, “Dude.  You blew it. I wasn’t there.  But I know you blew it.” 

“You could sound a little less happy about it.” 

“You blew a date with the princess.  Proves that you’re human. Any of us would have done the same.” 

Glancing over at his friend, who was currently staring at the side of his soda can.  Pietro couldn’t help but think that Clint wouldn’t have blown anything with Darcy.  Because Clint wasn’t an asshole.  Clint was a good guy who got shit on left and right. 

He shrugged.  “I guess…” He took a sip from his water bottle.  “So, where are you taking my sister?” 

Clint smiled.  He tried to hide it, but he didn’t do a very good job.  “I was thinking maybe to the boardwalk?  Take her on the Ferris wheel?  Maybe play a few of the carnival games?  I’m not the best, but I know the trick to winning ski ball…or we could go to the botanical gardens?  Or maybe to a café…I dunno.  I’m not the best at plannin’ stuff.” 

“It sounds like she’d have fun. Hell, I’d have fun.  Will you take me next weekend?” 

“Sure.  But I probably won’t try to steal any kisses from you. Just a heads up.”

“Thank you for that…” 

* * *

 

He arrived at the soup kitchen a few minutes late.  Which meant he got stuck on prep work.  Which wasn’t exactly his favorite thing. 

He liked taking food out to people.  Or taking them to their seats.  Something where he got to talk a lot.  Interact. 

But those jobs usually went to the newbies.  And he was late, so back to the kitchen he went.  Also, he’d kind of lost his seniority when he’d skipped a couple of weeks due to “personal reasons”.  I.E, he had made an ass of himself and was still suffering from the embarrassment that went along with it.   

Steve, the head chef, waved him over to a sink to wash his hands.  “You’re late, Pietro.” He gestured to the box of disposable hairnets and Pietro grumbled quietly about having to put one on.

But he did have long hair.  And it was curly.  And it wasn’t something someone would want to find in their soup.      

“Come on, Steve.  You know you missed me,” he smirked, pulling the hairnet over his head with a flourish and a pop of the elastic.  “Where I am?” 

“Veggie chopping…” Steve pointed a knife in the direction of the back of the kitchen.  “With the pr—with Ms. Lewis.”  He cleared his throat, glancing back towards the prep station in the far end of the kitchen.

 _Lewis.  Lewis.  There’s no way she’d…_ his mind was filled with the images Wanda had been showing him the past few weeks.  _Princess_ Darcy, of House _LEWIS_.  But no.  It couldn’t be.  The universe wouldn’t be that cruel…

Pietro frowned, adjusting his hairnet as he walked back in the direction Steve had pointed him. 

He nearly fell down when she turned around.  Surprised wasn’t really the word. Because he’d been half expecting it.   

Try terrified. 

Princess Darcy Lewis.  With a hairnet that matched his.  Twigs of brown hair sticking out in every direction.  She arched a delicately shaped brow when she saw him, her eyes widening infinitesimally in surprise.

She pressed her lips together and went back to what she was doing.  Which was skillfully dicing onions.  The knife milling quickly back and forth across the vegetables on her cutting board.  “Mr. Maximoff…” she addressed him coolly. “Are you volunteering?” 

“Yeah…uh…Ms. Lewis…” he replied, a whole ten seconds passing before he detected the salt in her question, but by then, it was too late to respond. 

_Of course I’m volunteering…I’m not here to have lunch if that’s what you’re implying._

She took the tiniest of steps to the left to make room for him to slide into the prep station with her. 

The bodyguard, the redhead, was leaning back against the wall, playing with her phone and looking around the room every so often. sm 

He took a carrot from the bowl in front of him and began to peel it.  “You’ll have to excuse me; I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

“Likewise,” was the Princess’ terse reply. 

“I always volunteer here on Saturdays, but I missed the last few weeks…” he explained, even though she hadn’t asked. 

“Cool story, Bro.  I’ve been here every Saturday for a month.”  She smirked as she took apart another onion, tossing the skin into the big bowl where he was peeling the carrot.  Well.  She smirked as much as she could with onion fumes. 

She kept blinking and leaning back.  Making for a pretty funny picture. 

Funny.  Cute.  Whatever. 

No.  Not cute. 

She was literally sticking her nose in the air.  Except, that might be because of the onion fumes too. 

It was a little cute.

Her knife milled through the onion, back and forth for a few passes.  Coming precariously close to her manicured fingernails. 

She scooped up the onion on the blade and dumped it into the bowl. 

“I came here every Saturday for 3 years before that…” he countered, simply unable to NOT have the last word. 

“Congrats. That’s really amazing. Did they name a street after you, or—?” 

He pursed his lips and chopped the carrot into little disks, sliding it into the smaller bowl in front of him.  “No.  But it doesn’t matter.  It is not THAT hard to get a street named after you…what did you do again to get yours?  Tinkle on the potty?”  He snickered mostly to himself, but also aloud. 

“I don’t really remember…” she said hurriedly.  “Must just be because I’m awesome.”  She slid the rest of the onion into the bowl, grabbing another one in a huff. 

“If you say so.” 

“I don’t.  But someone does.  I have a street named after me.” 

“Good for you.” 

She smiled coldly, still not looking at him. “Isn’t it though?  Definitely better than having…what is it you have YOUR name on?  An electric bill?” 

He started to aggressively peel another carrot.  “That’s right.  An electric bill.  And a rental lease.  And a cell phone plan.  And cable TV.  And a bank account.  AND my paychecks.  That I EARN.  Because I’m not a spoiled brat living off the money that my ancestors STOLE from their own people and BEAT out of slaves.” 

She rounded on him, pointing her chef’s knife at his face.  He raised his hands in mock surrender and she slammed it down on the counter to point her finger in his face instead.  “At least I don’t have to derive my self-worth by putting down other people.”

“Of course not.  It’s easier for you.  You can just take Daddy’s credit card and go buy a yacht or a new Gucci bag.  You know.  Support a local business by buying Gucci.” He sneered, “Come donate a few of your MANY hours of free time to a charity. I’m sure that helps you sleep at night.” 

The look in her eyes was murderous and as her icy blue gaze swept over his face, her teeth sinking into her plump red bottom lip, he felt a shiver go up his spine that he attributed to the A/C vent kicking on.  Her breath was coming out in huffs and he could feel the heat of it on his neck and chin. 

She leaned back, shaking her head and releasing her lip, blinking a few times and turning back to the onions in front of her.  She grabbed blindly at the knife, picking it up and resuming her chopping without another word or look in his direction. 

He heard the knife hit the wooden cutting board in dull thunks and he laid the carrot down on his and resumed chopping, deciding to attempt another apology in a few minutes after they’d both cooled down. 

He felt stupid again, not really sure why he was so dead set on winning this perpetual argument they seemed to have.  She’d been nothing but nice since the incident.  The incident involving her limo, his destroyed bike and his ass hitting the pavement. 

Well.  Not true.  She was nothing but nice unless he provoked her.  Which he seemed to have a propensity for.

They worked for some time in tense silence.  The bodyguard was eyeing both of them sideways, as if waiting for them to speak to each other again.  He was surprised she hadn’t said anything to him when he and the princess had been arguing before. 

The rhythm of her knife was getting faster and faster until it stopped suddenly, clattering to the floor.  His head snapped to his left immediately.    She was clutching her hand, blood oozing from between the closed fingers of her fist.  Her face was as white as a sheet. 

“Darcy?” he ventured, aware that he was using her given name, but not really caring.  It was the first thing that slipped out and this seemed a little more important than getting her title correct. 

“I think I cut myself…” she muttered.  “Can you look at it?” 

He was closest, so he was able to catch her before she hit the floor, her body limp in his arms as he turned towards her bodyguard, who was instantaneously by her side. 

* * *

 

The first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was Pietro’s face in profile. He was right on level with her somehow.  Not looking at her, but close.  She could smell him.  Axe body spray that she only recognized because he smelled similar to her fencing instructor, who sweated bullets and sprayed on Axe in lieu of taking a shower between training sessions. 

Similar, but not the same.  He lacked a certain…B. O scent that her fencing instructor seemed to have in spades. 

Something soft beneath her.  A couch.  She was on a couch.  In an office, it looked like.  She chanced turning her head and even as her vision swam, she could definitely concur that she was in an office of some kind. 

Natasha’s face was suddenly all she could see, a worried look clouded her face as she shone a flash light in each eye.  “You okay, Darce?” 

Darcy nodded, “Yeah…just dizzy…and cold…”

All but her left hand.  Her left hand was warm.  Nice and warm.  She looked down to see it encased in a much larger one.  A much larger one that disappeared quickly once she noticed it. 

“Sorry…” he coughed.  “You…uh…grabbed it and I…uh…” 

“You…UH…sat on the floor for a half hour…” Natasha finished for him, a playful grin tugging at her lips.  “It was very cute.  He didn’t want to let it go.” 

Darcy closed her eyes and gripped the back of the couch, pulling herself up to a sitting position.  “I need to get back to…” 

“No, no…it’s fine.  You don’t have to…it’s all been taken care of…” Natasha said quickly.  “Just rest until you can walk and we’ll head home.” 

“But I wanted to—“ 

“Look, I’m going to have to explain that cut.  I don’t want to have to explain any other injuries today.  You’re going to be lucky if they let you come back.” 

“They” meaning the Sitwells of course. 

She tried to school her features and accepted the bottle of water from Natasha who abruptly excused herself for a bathroom break.  

Darcy let her head hit the back of the couch and closed her eyes as the walls started coming back up, pressing down against her.  The cliché metaphorical prison.   _You’re going to be lucky if they let you come back._

She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been.  Getting into a childish argument with Pietro instead of just doing her job.  Doing what she came there to do.  He seriously fucked with her mind.  His presence was obnoxious.  Even right now.  Even after he’d held her hand.  Especially. 

“How does your hand feel?” he asked, his voice sounded soft and quiet, completely unlike the cocky dickface he usually channeled. 

“Like I sliced it open,” she snapped. 

“It WAS pretty deep…” 

She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill and stared hard at the back of the desk chair, clenching her jaw.  She almost missed the dickface.  She didn’t like being pitied.   

“Does it hurt?  I can get you some Tylenol…” He shifted in the seat like he was going to get up.

She shook her head, pressing her lips together.  “Thank you.  I’m fine.”  She swallowed thickly. 

“You don’t look fine…” he prodded. 

She turned to face him, locking eyes with him.  “Yeah?  Well.  Maybe I’m not.  Okay?  I’m embarrassed.  Because I cut myself and passed out in front of YOU.  But also because I fucked myself over for ever doing anything ever again.” 

He leaned forward, “Okay…would it make you feel better if I told you that I pass out cold every time someone sticks me with a needle?”

“For like…what, a blood test?” 

He nodded. 

She shrugged.  “It makes me feel a little better…” 

“And as far as the other thing goes…aren’t you an adult?” 

She snorted. “No.  I’m a spoiled little brat who still uses Daddy’s credit card.” 

He looked down for a moment.  “Look…I’m sorry.  I don’t know why I keep saying these horrible things to you…” 

“Because they’re true?” she shrilled, unable to control the waver or the hard lump in her throat any longer. 

“They are not true.  If they were true, you wouldn’t be here.  You’d be out using your Daddy’s credit card.  You wouldn’t be cutting open your hand in a soup kitchen.  You wouldn’t be rolling around with all the puppies at the animal shelter.  You wouldn’t be wiping snotty noses at the boys and girls club.” 

She turned towards him.  “You saw me in the paper?” 

He smiled crookedly.  “Kind of hard to miss you when you won’t stay in the society pages.” 

“Well…I’m sorry too…I shouldn’t be so quick to snark at you…” 

“Why? I like it when you snark at me.” 

She could feel her cheeks reddening and she looked down at her bandaged hand.  “Well…I guess that’s good to hear, since that’s all I do at you.” 

“See?  Friends already. You snark at me…I like it…What more is there?”  She smiled, unable to stop herself.  “But really…Darcy…I am so sorry for how I’ve been acting…I must say, you are the nicest woman who has ever hit me with a car.” 

She laughed, “Have you been hit by a car before?” 

“No…” He paused to grin, “But it’s still the truth: you’re the nicest woman who’s ever hit me with a car.  You’re also the meanest woman who’s ever hit me with a car, but…eh…specifics.” 

“Well…” 

“And I’ll tell you what.  You can come with me the next time I have to get blood drawn and watch me hit my head on the counter.  Because it always happens.  And you can hold MY hand until I wake up.  Deal?” 

“Sure…it’s a date…” she said quickly, without thinking about her phrasing.  He didn’t react, simply taking her hand and shaking it. Sealing the deal. 

“Now, my next physical IS 8 months away, so we really SHOULD go out at least once between now and then.  To keep the good faith…” 

She pursed her lips to keep from laughing.  “Are you asking me out?” 

“To keep the good faith…” he reiterated.  “I think it’s the responsible thing to do, don’t you?” 

She knew she shouldn’t.  She knew it wasn’t proper for her to be seen with him in a romantic setting.  But she honestly didn’t care.  She was sick of doing the proper thing.  She had never had more fun than when she stopped doing the proper thing. 

And yes.  He was an asshole.  But so was she.  And he challenged her. 

So she found herself nodding.  “Yes.  Definitely.  The responsible thing.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blbechek-Little Idiot


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ummm, this was so much fun to write, you guys. This brought me back to when I was a wee young lass, full of an impossible combination of innocence and cynicism and that's really something. 
> 
> Darcy is such a treasure in this fic and I'm really happy to be able to write her. <3 She is just a peach and I love her. Pietro is such a rakish little jerk and I love him too. 
> 
> Also, Pietro pulls out all the stops for this first date. Lemme tell ya. (Smh, Pietro.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed. Because I wanted to post today. I love you guys. All the mistakes are mine. I'm sure I'll find a million as soon as I hit post, too.

As it turned out, it was kind of difficult for Princess Darcy to arrange a super-secret date with a bicycle courier. 

She was expecting obstacles.  But nothing like this.  It seemed like she was constantly busy. And since she was kind of...FAMOUS, it was difficult to arrange anything in secret.

So, they had to settle for phone calls. For a while. Until she could arrange for an evening out. 

Pietro was sweet, though.  Really patient with her.  She found that she lived for the moments when her phone lit up with his name.  Usually late at night when she was supposed to be asleep.  She preferred it that way, because she could lay there in her bed and talk to him for hours, unencumbered. 

His accent was adorable.  And she'd told him as much.  He’d laughed nervously.  Which was even MORE adorable.

She'd gotten to seen him a few times at the soup kitchen; it was now her regular place on Saturdays. For absolutely NO REASON other than she wanted to help the poor.  Nope.  No other reason.

Don’t get her wrong.  Helping the poor was a LOT of fun.  But…it seemed like less work with him there. 

Natasha had hidden the fact that she'd cut herself and passed out.  Somehow, she'd hidden it.  Darcy had to walk around with a tiny bandage on her finger in lieu of the big one she most likely needed.  She had to continually wash it out with peroxide and alcohol, but Jasper hadn't found out about it. 

If she was being real, she wasn't sure how she got anything done when she was volunteering.  She couldn't stop looking at Pietro. And blushing when she locked eyes with him.  He'd smile crookedly and her heart would flutter and her stomach would swoop.  She suddenly understood all those old movies where the women swooned.  She felt like swooning when she was around him.  If she swooned, he could catch her, and then she'd be in his arms. 

God, his arms.  Looking at his arms made her mouth go dry.  Her eyes feasting on all that toned muscle.  He was a bike courier, so she imagined his legs must be EVEN BETTER.  She knew his ass wasn’t anything to scoff at.  And she never did.  She usually just stared blatantly when she thought she could get away with it. 

She found herself thinking about the weirdest, most random things.  Like licking up the length of his bicep.  Or his throat.  Or...other...places. 

Thoughts like that got her all hot and bothered.  A term she'd heard Natasha use before, had adopted a while ago, but she actually GOT the meaning of now. 

Sure, she'd seen cute guys before.  Hot guys.  Prince Thor, anyone?  But nobody who she'd been this attracted to.  For instance, she never daydreamed about licking Prince Thor's biceps.  And Prince Thor had EXCELLENT biceps.  She didn't know what it was, but Pietro DID IT for her.  Maybe she'd finally discovered her type.  And her type was Pietro Maximoff. 

God, that sounded so stupid.

Darcy wasn’t even the least bit sure what she'd do on an actual date with him.  Having 100% of his attention seemed daunting.  She was liable to melt into a puddle on the floor and that would be that. 

Like, if they were alone, he might try to kiss her and that thought both scared and exhilarated her.  She'd been kissed before.  She and her school roommate, Lady Kate, the daughter of the Duke of Heinsburg, Derek Bishop, used to practice in their dorm room...but besides that, she'd also kissed a few guys in college.     

It had been a while, however.  Since she'd been home from university, she was more closely monitored.  University was the place to get all that out of your system.  To a certain extent.  Promiscuity was advised against.  But if it happened, it happened…it hadn't happened for her, obviously.  It was funny, with how many porny tropes there were about deflowering a princess, that when faced with the real thing, nerves took over.  And here she was.  Twenty-five years old and still holding her "flower".  Ugh. 

It hadn't really bothered her, she figured she wouldn’t die a virgin. And if it happened on her wedding night, then that's when it would happen. 

But now...now, she wished she was more experienced.  She wished she could walk with that same confidence Natasha had.  She wanted to strut.  She wanted to be able to do…things.  She wanted to confidently strip out of her clothes and climb into Pietro's lap and actually KNOW what to do. 

The thought of doing any of that had her quivering in places she didn't know could quiver. 

She wished she wasn't who she was. Royalty was intimidating.  Even though they were all just a bunch of undereducated lacy collared twits, they still SOMEHOW intimidated people.  She wanted to be just a normal person.  A normal woman he could meet anywhere.  A normal woman who had normal experiences.  Who knew what to do with the equipment he was packing in his pants.  Who could walk into a room wearing a robe and nothing else and let it slide from her shoulders.  To not blush under his gaze.  To straddle his hips and take him somewhere.  Anywhere. 

Then, she'd curse her own innocence because she didn't KNOW where she'd take him.  She didn't know HOW.  And it made her want to scream into a pillow.

Because his voice on the phone, it DID things to her.  And she wanted to TELL him that.  But every time she practiced saying it, the words sounded foreign in her mouth.  "Your voice is SEXY...it makes me want to rip all my clothes off..." 

She'd said all those things before, but had never really MEANT it.  And now that she meant it, she sounded so desperate and stupid. 

Like if she said it, he might laugh at her.  Laugh that cruel laugh like he'd done at the pub that one day.  Almost three beers deep and cynical to a fault. 

And the thought of that made her want to implode on herself.  Just cease to exist.  If anything like that ever happened, she would just...die on the spot.  Live her life in fast rewind, like a sped up Benjamin Button.  Shrink up into a single cell and disappear. 

And so, she'd lay there most nights on her bed with the phone pressed to her ear, listening to him talk and stuffing a pillow between her legs to relieve the ache. Because she shouldn't be getting this worked up when he was telling her about his day.

She often wondered if he thought about _her_ like that.  If anything she did was remotely as attractive as anything he did.  She couldn't imagine it being true.  She couldn't imagine that he liked her as much as she liked him.  And that was enough for her to keep her weird thoughts to herself.

The date finally DID transpire.  It just so happened that Natasha AND Jasper had a Friday night off.  She wondered how much Natasha had to do with that little coincidence.  Not that she was going to look a gift horse in the mouth, if that's what it was. 

Pietro told her the night before to wear comfortable shoes.  She didn't completely understand what comfortable shoes meant, so she asked Natasha before she left for the afternoon. 

Nat snorted, "It means he's taking you somewhere where you'll have to walk.  Wear sneakers." 

"On a date?" Darcy wasn't exactly expecting that kind of thing on a date.  The dates she'd envisioned were nights at the opera.  A trip to the movies.  A nice restaurant.  Nowhere you could feasibly wear sneakers.  Except perhaps to the cinema.  If you went to one of the smaller ones. 

"Darcy...cut the guy a break.  He's probably on a budget.  I'm sure he's taking you somewhere wonderful.  Just don't...you know...make it look like you know you're slummin' it.  Okay?" 

"Okay, okay...I know." 

"Okay..." Natasha eyed the outfit she'd laid out on the bed.  "You're gonna look adorable." 

She blushed, "Really? Do you think he'll--" she stopped herself. 

"He's already head over heels, Darcy.  You've as good as charmed the pants off him." 

She sputtered for a few minutes at that image, assuring Nat that she indeed had not charmed anything off him. No sir.  Not her. 

Natasha rolled her eyes and shook her head.  "Just stay smart, Your Highness." She cocked an eyebrow. 

Nat only used Darcy’s formal address when she was trying to make a point.  She reached over to Darcy's bedside table, opening the drawer, moving around some of the things inside and pulling out the box of condoms she'd jokingly bought for her weeks ago.  "Do you have one in your purse?" 

She felt her face flush beet red.  "I don't need one...we're not going to do anything like that tonight..." 

"Darce...you don't know that..." 

"I do, actually.  I mean.  This is our first date and I've never...I mean...I haven't..." 

Natasha's eyes widened. "You haven't...you're a virg--" 

"Shhhhhhh...." Darcy placed her finger on her lips, unsure if she really thought someone would hear or if she just didn’t want to hear it spoken aloud. Most likely the latter.  "Yes.  I'm a virgin.  Is that surprising?" 

"Yes. It is.  Didn't you go to university?" 

Darcy folded her arms. "Yes.  I did.  And nothing happened.  Turns out, guys aren't as keen on deflowering princesses as pornos would have you believe." 

"Oh Darcy..." Natasha sat down on her bed.  "This is even...god, this is even more important..." she ripped open the box of condoms, tearing off three of them.  She stuck them into Darcy’s purse.  "Look...you don't know how it is in the heat of the moment...you're not gonna want to stop just because you don't have a condom.  You aren't..." 

"Nat, I'm not going to--" 

"I've seen the way you look at him.  You're not gonna want to stop." 

So maybe she wasn’t being sly or covert about her infatuation at all.  She really hoped Pietro hadn’t seen her looking all moony eyed at him. 

Darcy bit her bottom lip and looked down at her lap.

"And that's okay..." the other woman assured her.  "It's okay to not want to stop.  You just...need to be prepared so you won't have to." 

Darcy nodded, standing to start getting dressed, she had to meet him in an hour and she hadn’t so much as touched her hair yet.  Plus, this seemed like the perfect instance to change the subject to something a little less mortifying.    

"You're going to tell him, right?  About your... _experience_." 

"Or lack thereof..."  Darcy quipped. 

"You're going to tell him, right?" Natasha poked her in the arm. 

She nodded.  "I will.  I will.  Even if it makes him not like me anymore..." That thought made her feel terrible. 

"Well...I've seen the way he looks at YOU.  I don't think something like that is going to make him want to leave...so no worries."

"That hasn't been my experience." 

"Well, then...those weren't the guys for you." 

She took a deep breath, glancing back over at her bodyguard/assistant. 

"Want me to help you get ready?"  Natasha asked.

Darcy found herself nodding.  And then they were suddenly at her vanity and Natasha was doing her eyeliner.  Instructing her on how to get the line as thin as possible with the liquid stuff.  Even though Darcy knew how to do it and both of them were aware of that. 

There was something else going on here and Darcy kind of liked it. 

It was like they were...friends or something. Bodyguard/assistant/friend.

"How do you know what to do?" Darcy asked as Natasha found another more casual top in her closet that would look good with the shoes she'd chosen. 

Her red head poked out of the door.  "Is this a sex question?" 

"Yes." 

She paused for a moment.  "Well.  Do what feels right.  There's a little bit of instinct involved.  I mean...do different things, if it feels good, keep doing it.  If it doesn't...do something else." 

"What about him, what can I do to--" 

"Let him worry about that."

That didn't help at all.  She didn't want to be some lump that sat there while he did everything. 

"Darcy.  Trust me.  For the first few times, worry about you." 

Sometimes, it was downright annoying when Natasha had all the answers.

* * *

 

"It's just a little further..." Pietro reached back for her hand again after she hopped over the stream.  He laced their fingers and sent chills up her spine.  The good kind of chills.  "I'm sorry about the walk, but there's no road up to where we're going." 

"No, no...it's...I like it...I mean..." she glanced around the dark woods.  "I'd probably be scared if I wasn't with you...but..." 

He scoffed, "Nothing to be scared of...this land belongs to a friend of mine." 

"A friend?" 

"Okay, my boss." 

"Your BOSS lets you use his land to--" 

"Okay, he doesn't let me.  But what he doesn't know won't hurt him..." he turned back and winked.  She could barely make out his face in the dark. 

She bit her lip to hide her grin as they walked up a steep incline to their destination.  Or she really hoped it was their destination.  The lights from the city below were visible.  Even her family's palace was in sight.  The view was spectacular and she audibly gasped when he stopped walking. 

She could feel his eyes on her and when she turned to look at him, he was grinning broadly. "You like it?" 

"It's gorgeous..." she breathed, walking over towards the guard rail.  City issue corrugated steel. 

He set down the basket he'd brought with them, pulling out a blanket, which he spread out on the ground behind her. 

"I'm glad you think so…" 

She crossed her arms over her stomach and turned around.  "Can I help?" 

He smirked.  "You can come over here and improve my view a little..." 

"Am I in the way?" she asked, taking a big step to the side. 

"No..." he chuckled nervously, "I just meant...if you were here...closer to me, I could see you better and then my view would be--" 

"Oh!  Oh.  Right.  You were complimenting me and I made it weird..." 

He arched an eyebrow, looking down at the spot beside himself. 

She smiled, taking the hint and situating herself there on the blanket beside him.  She kicked off her shoes, so she wouldn't mess up the blanket or anything.    

He started pulling things out of the basket.  Sandwiches and a container of strawberries and a bottle of something pink.  She had to stifle a giggle because _STRAWBERRIES?  Really, Pietro?_   

But honestly, he could get away with being cheesy because even Darcy could admit that she was absolutely smitten with him. 

And the sandwiches were very good.  His sister made them, he informed her sheepishly when she told him how good they were.  And she wanted to kiss him.  Except she had her mouth full of a ridiculously good turkey club.

The pink bottle turned out to be something called "Boone's Farm" and she wasn't sure whether or not she should drink it.  She couldn't recall anything that color occurring in nature.  Even though the bottle assured her it was "Strawberry Hill", whatever that was. It had a twist off cap and he poured it into red plastic cups.  

It actually tasted pretty good.  Very good.  It wasn't sweet champagne, but it would do.  She'd definitely drink it again.    

The strawberries were next and she thought she'd be cute and feed him one.  Except it kind of backfired when his lips grazed her fingertips and she ended up forgetting to pull the piece of fruit away from his mouth and he had to reach up to pull her hand away himself. 

His tongue darted out to lick the juice from his lips and she felt her heart beat faster at the sight of it.  His mouth.  That was a new fixation for her. Arms. Throat. Mouth.  But...he was beautiful illuminated by the city below them and the moon above them.  And his mouth was the focal point for her.  She felt like she was just...staring stupidly at his mouth. 

He scooted closer and she held her breath, anticipating a kiss. 

She was almost disappointed when he didn't, but he'd situated himself closer to her.  Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body.  Close enough that she could smell him.  A combination of what smelled like some very strong cologne and the outdoors and something below that.  Herbal.  Sage. 

His hand came up to brush a lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.  His eyes searched for her gaze and held it.  "Do you want one?" he asked, holding out a strawberry.  She nodded and she was about to reach for it when he held it up, pressing it between her lips, inhaling sharply when she took a bite.  She felt the juice running down her chin and she moved to wipe it, but he stopped her. 

"I'll get it..." he promised, leaning in to press his lips to the corner of her mouth. 

She hadn't been expecting it, she didn't have time to hold her breath. She reached for him, feeling ungainly and clumsy as she groped for the back of his neck. 

His lips pulled at hers gently, and his breath huffed out of his nose when she parted her lips slightly. She could taste the strawberry he'd just eaten.  Or maybe that was the one she'd just eaten.  Regardless, the kiss was sweet.  It made it feel like her insides melted and pooled right there at the apex of her thighs and made her stomach flutter nervously. 

He licked his lips as he leaned back slightly, his eyes searching her face.  "Was that okay?" 

She nodded.  "That was...that was fine.  Great.  Perfect...I..." she felt her face flush and he smiled. 

"Couldn't have said it better myself." 

She grinned and he leaned back in, letting his hand slide up the back of her neck and into her hair, anchoring her against him as his lips plucked and plundered hers.  She steadied herself by grabbing his shoulder.  She let a small moan escape when his tongue brushed against her parted lips. 

His other hand slid up her side, moving deftly up until it was resting right beneath her bra.  She suddenly felt like she couldn't breathe. 

"Wait..." she murmured, "Wait..." 

He moved his hand immediately, sitting back away from her.  "I'm sorry...that was...too much?  I'm so sorry, Darcy..." 

"No...I just...I just..." she swallowed back the lump in her throat and the abject mortification she felt at telling him this.  "Kissing...is just...I've--" 

"We can just kiss, that is fine..." 

"Kissing is just all I've ever...done.  I've never..." she trailed off and looked down. 

"Wait..." he sat back a little from her, "Are you kidding me?" 

She shook her head. 

"How old are you?" 

She frowned, "I'm twenty-five, not that it matters." 

"I just...Darcy...I assumed you would have...that maybe you'd...I mean...you went to _university_." 

She sighed.  Everyone said “university” like it was some kind of big sex club or something. "YES, to study.  That's what university is FOR, after all." 

He shrugged, "No judgement...just..." He smirked, huffing out a sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter.  

She pulled her legs up in front of her, hiding her face before she started crying in front of him.  She was NOT looking forward to the awkward walk back down to where she'd parked her car. 

"Hey...hey..." she felt his hand on hers, pulling her arm out from under her head.  "I'm sorry...it's not funny...Darcy..." 

She forced herself to meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry..." he raised his eyebrows, widening his eyes and pushing his hair back out of his face.  "So sorry..." 

She smirked.  "Okay, okay.  I forgive you." 

He leaned over again, pressing his lips to hers briefly.  "Just...let me know when to stop and I promise, I won't ever go past that point again." 

She bit her bottom lip and took her chances, leaning forward to take the initiative.  To kiss him this time. 

It went pretty well, if she did say so herself. 

"Well..." she drawled, raking her fingers through his hair.  "I'm not opposed to taking things slowly...so maybe...we just...see where it goes?" 

His jaw dropped momentarily.  "You want...you'd...you'd trust me with...something like that?" 

She nodded, holding his gaze and liking what she saw there. 

"Is that even allowed?" 

"Well...technically... _this_ isn't allowed...but...we didn't let that stop us, did we?" 

"You're not supposed to be out with me?" 

She shook her head. 

"That is so hot..." he grinned and leaned in to kiss her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed the muses? Comment or kudos? 
> 
> xoxo, I love you guys.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. I'm probably going to be switching to Wednesday updates from now on, just because it works better with my schedule and stuff. ;) 
> 
> There's some. Uh. Nice stuff in this chapter. Not too nice. But. Still nice. *wink wink* 
> 
>  
> 
> [I'll just put this here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TBs1eW7VIco)
> 
>  
> 
> Kick Drum Heart-Avett Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to heyfrenchfreudiana for beta reading this for me. (And to leftennant for her advice)
> 
> Also, wanted to wish a Happy Belated Birthday to Ozhawk! I wanted to have this done in time, but the muses weren't accommodating. I hope you had an awesome day! ;D

Pietro closed the door to his bedroom, whistling as he walked out to the kitchen.  He grabbed a bottle of water, uncapping it and taking a sip.  "Good Morning!" he beamed over at Wanda, who was making coffee. 

"Same to you..." she snapped the lid back on the coffee can.   

He scooted the mail pile out of the way, lifting his leg up to the counter. The dishes rattled in the cabinets.

She widened her eyes, folding her arms across her front and leaning against the counter, "Oh.  You're running again?" 

He grinned, "Yep." 

"What for?" 

"Because.  I LIKE it." 

"Oh..." she rolled her eyes.  "It has nothing to do with your latest conquest?  You don't want to show off that cute little pot belly you were growing? Doesn’t your Princeza like your little pooch?" 

He snorted.  "This has nothing to do with that.  Besides.  Darcy wouldn't care." 

She probably wouldn't, to be honest.  But he was vain. And God help him, he preened like crazy when she complimented him.  With her words, or when her manicured nails dragged over his biceps.  She really liked his biceps.  And he was happy to work on them for her.  It was all he could do not to flex them like a complete asshole whenever she was around. 

Wanda was grinning at him.  He schooled his features, switching legs.  "What?" 

She shrugged.  "It's just funny.  Watching you fall for someone." 

"I am not falling for her." He leaned over into the stretch, holding it for a few seconds.   

She shook her head, still smiling slightly, "Just...don't get hurt, Pietro." 

"You are saying she'd hurt me?"  he pulled his leg down off the counter, placing his feet together and hopping slightly. 

"I'm saying...don't forget who she is." 

He raised his eyebrows.  "Who she is?" 

"She's royalty, Pietro." 

"I know that." 

"No.  I mean...you know it can't...you won't have a future together. She isn't going to abdicate to be with you." 

"I know that," he repeated. 

"I just don't want you to get your heart broken..." 

"Well.  It's my heart.  I'll do what I want with it.  You just...focus on yours, Dear Sister," he shot a glance back towards her bedroom door.  "Tell Clint I said good morning..." He took a swig out of the bottle of water.  "I'll be back in an hour."  He grabbed his earbuds, plugging them into his phone. 

"Pietro?" 

"Hmm?" 

"You didn't...hear anything last night, did you?" 

He waggled his phone.  "I was talking to Darcy." 

"You didn't answer my question!" she called as he made for the door. His feet pounded on the pavement as his running playlist started. 

He wasn't about to tell Wanda that he wasn't in his room the previous night. 

He didn't lie, though.  He HAD been talking to Darcy.  And kissing Darcy.  And... letting her put his hand under her shirt.  Listening to her ragged breathing and the pitter patter of raindrops on the windshield of the Jaguar Coupe she was driving.

It was as far as they'd gone, his hand under her shirt, still over the bra.

Her skin was so soft under his rough fingertips.  No matter how many times he did this, he couldn't get over how soft she was.

He still didn't think he was worthy of touching her. Of making her breath hitch when he traced around the edge of her bra, grazing the sensitive flesh and feeling it pebble through the satin.  His thumb rolling around the stiff peak, sliding on the fabric.  He watched her face for signs of discomfort.  Every twitch of her mouth had him on edge, ready to pull back even though he was drinking in every sharp breath, every hushed moan, every flick of her tongue on her bottom lip, wetting it when it got too dry. 

He wasn't worthy of touching her until she trembled and pulled his hand away, reaching over to smooth his hair out of his face and apologizing under her breath, pressing kisses to his lips that felt frantic. 

 What she was apologizing for, he didn't know. He'd gladly touch her as much as she wanted him to.   

No, he was definitely not worthy of the heated kisses afterwards, as she pressed her thighs together, trying to stave off the want that he was feeling too. That his hands itched to relieve for her.  But, she had to make the decision.  Had to give him the all clear.  He watched her hands clench and release around his wrists, could practically see the wheels turning in her head.  She'd glance towards the back seat and back to him, mentally measuring the space they had.  Whether or not they'd get caught.   

He went home with an erection that could hammer nails. Nothing five minutes alone with his right hand couldn't cure, however. It did have him wondering what she did to relieve the tension.  And that usually became fodder for his own...self-help.

A truck honked loudly, splashing water up over his feet as he skidded to a halt on the edge of the curb.  If he wasn't careful, he was going to make a habit out of getting hit by vehicles. 

He was also going to have to take a self-help break if he didn't stop thinking about the things they did in her car.  Well.  If he didn't stop thinking about THOSE things that they did in her car. 

They did other things too.  Like, talk.  He really loved it when she talked.  When she was excited about something, her eyes widened and she would move her hands a lot. 

When she talked about her volunteer work, she got that way.  Really expressive.  Especially when she talked about the dogs.  It made him want to adopt all the dogs in the shelter, just so she'd be able to cuddle them whenever she wanted. 

Of course, when he told her that, she just laughed and leaned over to kiss him.  Told him she would much rather come over to his place and cuddle him. 

And that made him...nervous.  Because...as much as he'd thought about her porcelain skin spread out on his blue flannel sheets...it was bound to be a blatant reminder of what they were.  She was a princess.  An honest to god princess and he...he was definitely not royalty. 

And Wanda was right.  This relationship...it had an expiration date.

Fooling around in her car was one thing.  But...if he brought her over…

She'd eventually walk out of his life forever. She’d be gone, but not really. If he brought her over, she’d leave traces.  Everywhere.  Traces of her. Memories.  Memories that would come back to haunt him.

Because he could tell Wanda he wasn't falling for her until his face turned blue, but it wasn't true.  He was already so far gone; it wasn't even a question anymore.  He'd felt it happen up on that hillside when he kissed her.  When her hand grasped the back of his head and kept him close. When her lips parted, letting him taste the strawberry he'd fed her. He could feel that head over heels tumble that left him dazed and completely enamored with the Princess of Stanicily, Darcy Katherine of House Lewis, first of her name.  And she certainly hadn't helped matters.  With her "let's just see how it goes" approach to losing her virginity that STILL had him reeling. 

He wiped his brow and stopped running for a few minutes, sitting on a park bench and watching the dogs run by with their owners. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. 

Snapchat. 

“Good Morning, Sunshine!” He was treated to a view of Darcy's bedroom, the sun streaming in her window, her feet under the blankets. 

He replied, snapping a picture of the park.  “Good Morning Beautiful!”

The next one was a selfie, of her beautiful face.  Smiling at him in her nightgown.  Peach silk that almost matched the color of her skin.  Anyone else would look washed out.  She seemed to glow.  “Taking a run, Handsome?”

He switched his camera to selfie mode, trying to take one that didn't make him look like a sweaty mess.  He didn't succeed.  But he sent it anyway.  “Water break, want me to call you?” 

The next one was a picture of her lap, “I don't have time. :(  When are you off work tonight?” 

He snapped a picture of the ground.  “6 pm.”

Another of her lap.  “I'll call you then.”

He sent a farewell and pocketed his phone.  He finished off his water and got up again, prepared to run back to his apartment. 

The run back was fairly uneventful.  No near fatal car accidents or anything.  He was getting fairly winded by the end of it, which meant he definitely needed to keep doing this every morning.  Even if he wasn't an Olympic-hopeful athlete anymore, he didn't need to let himself go. 

He nodded to Clint and Wanda on the couch watching the news as he went into the bathroom. 

Clint was becoming an almost permanent fixture here.  At least on the nights Wanda had off.  It made for some awkward mornings, since there was only one bathroom and both he and Clint had to be at work at the same time. 

He stepped into the shower, sighing immediately. The hot water felt great on his shoulders, running down his back to his sore thighs and calves. 

He was hoping for a busy day at work, simply because it would make the time go by faster. He was starting to live his life as time spent talking to or with Darcy and time without her.  Time without her was infinitely worse.   

Pietro got dressed for work, tugging on his shoes and grabbing a cup of yogurt from the fridge. 

He finished it while listening to Clint and Wanda say goodbye and trying to fade into the background because third wheeling wasn't particularly his thing. 

He was already on his bike when Clint caught up to him outside, asking if he wanted a ride. 

He didn't, but he felt kind of weird saying no, so he found himself pushing trash off the seat of Clint's car a few minutes later, with his bike strapped to the back. 

“So you and the uh…princess?  How’s that going?” Clint began.  His tone sounded almost forced and definitely awkward.  Pietro knew a setup when heard one.

He smirked, “It’s going.” 

Clint coughed, “I mean.  You okay? And everything, because…Wanda is worried and…” 

“Wanda worries.  It is what she does. Much like the way you fix cars or the way I deliver packages.  She believes it is her job.” 

The other man coughed, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.  He flicked on the blinker, turning into a gas station.  “Hey, man, I gotta stop for gas…you in or out?” 

“I’ll stay here.”  He was touched.  Even if Wanda put him up to it.  Still nice. 

Clint stuck the pump in the car and went inside to pay.  Pietro was fiddling with his phone when something tapped the windshield.  He looked up to see a scuffed up homeless man tapping on the window with a crumpled up newspaper.  “Can I clean your windshield, man?”

Pietro nodded, resolving to squeegee whatever he could off after the man finished.  “Sure, go ahead.” 

He rummaged in his pocket for some cash to give to him when something caught his eye on the windshield. A newspaper. With Darcy’s picture.  Swiping back and forth on Clint’s filthy windshield. Not just any picture.  A picture of her wearing the same shirt and pants she’d been wearing yesterday. And now it was smearing the grime around on the glass.

Pietro opened the door, stuffing the money into the homeless man’s hand in return for the paper and a few minutes off. He smoothed it out to look at it.  It was possible that it wasn’t what he thought it was.  It was entirely possible that Darcy wore the same clothes sometimes.  Right? 

The headline read “A ROYAL AFFAIR,” and the far away grainy picture of Darcy on the cover had his gut rolling.  Panicked, he checked the date, despairing more when he discovered it was that morning’s edition. 

The memories of what they’d done in the car the previous night were flashing through his mind in photograph form. Private things.  Things she probably wouldn’t want plastered on a newspaper cover, no matter the reputation of said paper. 

He booked it inside, finding the Daily Bugle in the newsstand and flipping to the proverbial page 37 to read about Darcy’s affair…

…with the Prince of Asgard. 

On one hand, he was glad it wasn’t referring to him.  He could breathe a little easier now that the Bugle’s shitty reputation was proving itself with shining colors and fake interviews with “friends” of the princess. He and Darcy were safe. 

But on the other hand, he wasn’t completely at ease.  Because…there was that niggling little voice in the back of his mind.  The smug little shitty one that reminded him that this was what he had to look forward to. 

Except on shinier, glossier paper.  And in high definition.  And instead of an affair, it would be a wedding.  If not with Prince Thor, then with some other royal. 

No matter who it was with, it wasn’t going to be him. 

But that was fine.  Because, he didn’t even WANT to get married anyway.  He didn’t want to wake up beside her perfect glowing face every day.  No.  he didn’t want that.  So it was okay.  

It was really okay. 

* * *

 

It so wasn’t okay. 

He was obsessing. 

He had two hours left in his shift and he’d managed to piss off practically everyone. 

It hadn’t helped that Darcy had texted him around lunchtime, telling him that she had “just found out about the Bugle” and not to worry, because “none of it was true.” 

Of course it wasn’t true.  There was no way Darcy had run off to a love nest on Pine Street the previous weekend because she’d been with him.  Slumming it in the front seat of her Jag and letting him play with her tits.  She’d dropped him off at the pub and he’d walked home to jack off in the shower.

Fuck…

He didn’t want to cheapen it like that.  It was more than that and he knew it.   

He was just a terrible person.  That was all.  A terrible, awful person who was jealous over a fake relationship. 

Coulson let him go home early because he was “sick of hearing his smart mouth.”  Pietro was honestly sick of hearing it too, but he didn’t know how to make it stop.

He shrugged off a ride from Clint and rode his bike home instead, debating on whether or not he should answer Darcy’s call that evening. 

It might be easier if he didn’t.  He could just let her slowly fade from his life.  Very, very slowly. 

He unlocked the door, walking inside to an empty apartment because Wanda had left early for work. 

He changed out of his work clothes, dropping them on the floor of his room because he wasn’t really giving a fuck right then. He pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and slumped on the couch with a bottle of water that he wished was a beer.  It was probably better that it wasn’t. 

Darcy called at six on the dot, and he picked it up on the fourth ring. 

“Hello?”

“Is something wrong?” she asked immediately. 

“No?” 

“Yes there is…is it about the article?” 

“Darcy…I…” 

“Pietro…are you alone?  Can I come over? I honestly…don’t care if you’re sister’s there…or if anyone’s there…I want to see you…” 

He was probably crazy, letting her come over here into his space was the last thing he needed to do.  But he found himself giving her directions anyway, his heart in his throat. 

He sat still for a good ten minutes trying to calm himself before he started looking around the living room and panicking a little about the mess.     

He stood up and began dumping things into the laundry basket.  He swept all of Wanda’s folded laundry into the top of it and stuck the whole basket in her room.

It looked better.  He should probably vacuum.  But there wasn’t time. 

He went out to the kitchen to rinse out all the dishes and soak the pot Wanda had used for mac and cheese the night before and left on the stove to crust.

He could tell if it smelled funny in here.  And then he couldn’t decide if he should light a candle or not.  A candle might send the wrong message.  But…if it smelled weird in here, she might not stay. 

He bit the bullet and lit the candle in the center of their coffee table. It supposedly smelled like an apple orchard.  He doubted it.  But, it smelled better than nothing at all. 

There was a knock at the door, and he walked with purpose over to turn the knob, realizing as he pulled the door open that he didn’t have a shirt on. 

Great.  She was going to think—

Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open.  “Wow…Hello to you too…” she mumbled. 

He grinned, “Sorry…I was just…” 

She shook her head, pursing her lips, “No, no.  Let me have the fantasy.  You were…chopping wood?  Doing pushups?  No…flexing and writing poetry?” 

“Ahh…you found me out…working on my next volume of love poems…I’m going to call it ‘Flex and Flirt’, what do you think?”  He rolled his arm up to flex it, smirking and waggling his eyebrows. 

“Mmm…that sounds perfect.”

He moved away from the door, letting her enter.  He took her purse, setting it on the kitchen counter while she walked around aimlessly.  “Your apartment is nice…” 

“You don’t have to lie…” he chuckled. 

“I’m not…it’s cozy.” 

She walked over to the far wall to look at his movie posters.  He was about to go join her, wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her neck until she made him stop.  Except something pink and lacy caught his eye.  Not on his girlfriend.  No.  Of course not. 

On the floor in front of the couch. 

He groaned internally when he realized it must be a pair of Wanda’s underwear that hadn’t made it into the basket earlier.  He quickly walked over to kick them under the couch.  He nudged them under with his foot.

Except they didn’t stay under the couch.  They static clung to his sock and no matter how much he shook his foot, they wouldn’t come off.  He was attempting to scraped them off on the side of the couch when he heard her laughing. 

He sighed, looking up at her.  “They’re not mine.” 

_Oh fuck me._

“I didn’t think they were…” she paused, tilting her head slightly.  “You always struck me as more of a t-back kind of guy…” 

He snorted and shook his head.  “No, surprisingly, it’s white cotton bikinis or go home…these are far too…lacy…” He cringed.  “They’re my sister’s…can you please…” he held out his foot and Darcy snatched them up.  “Which one’s her room?” she gestured to the doors. 

He pointed out the correct door and she opened it briefly, tossing them inside and shutting it behind her.  “All gone.”   

“Thank you…”  he looked down at his feet. 

“Piet…can we talk?” she was moving towards him.  “I feel really bad about the article…like…really bad.  I think we should talk about it…” 

He shook his head.  “Darcy…I…” 

“Like…okay…the story was a plant.  From my advisor.  He thought like…I dunno…if he started the dating rumors, then maybe it might happen?  I don’t know…” 

He bit his lip and looked down at the floor.  “It’s really none of my business…”

She took two steps forward, grabbing his hand, “But it IS your business…Piet…I don’t want you to think that I’d…I’m not going to get married to—“ 

“Darcy…you can’t make a decision about that based off of—“ 

“I’m NOT making a decision; I’m just saying that…I’m not looking for a prince…”  

He snorted, crossing his arms over his middle, trying not to think about what she was saying.  That she was slumming it and that was good enough for now.  

“Pietro…” she gripped his forearm, rising up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.  “I’m not looking for a prince.  Anymore.” 

He closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the warmth of her before he responded with a kiss of his own, pulling her close.  “I am no prince.”

“Coulda fooled me…” her hands were running up his chest. He caught them, leaning down to kiss her, feeling like an idiot and a fool and all those other horrible things that he couldn’t think of right now because she was kissing him back.  She broke it off before he was ready, leaning away from him while his lips chased hers.    “So…which one’s your room?” she asked, grinning widely. 

Her smile was infectious and he found himself grinning back at her.  “The one behind you…” he gestured towards his door.  “Its…I wasn’t expecting company…or I would have…” 

“Can I go in?” 

He nodded, gesturing with his hand, because he couldn’t think of a place he’d rather be with her right now.  It wasn’t near what she deserved.  But, it was the best she could do. 

But if she wasn’t impressed, she didn’t let on. 

“May I sit on your bed?” she asked. 

He nodded again.  

“Will you sit on it with me?”

He grinned, sitting down beside her, his body singing for her touch as she brushed his hair out of his face. 

“We could…umm…watch a movie…if you want?” he asked, conversation a futile attempt when she was already leaning towards him and pulling him down to meet her simultaneously, her lips brushing over his and making his stomach clench in a pleasant way. He made a sound in the back of his throat, involuntarily, because her hand was sliding over his abs and he honestly wanted her to touch him all over. 

“If you want…” she kissed her way down his jaw, settling on his throat. 

Somehow, they ended up laying back against his pillows.  He wished he had known she was coming over.  He’d have changed his sheets. 

Not that they were gross or anything. 

But he could just hear his mother now…turning in her grave and bemoaning the day her son had felt up a member of the royal family on his bed and hadn’t changed his sheets first. 

But then she hiked her leg over his hips and he was helping her straddle him, his hands roving up and down her denim clad thighs and he was hard pressed to care about the state of his sheets.  He’d changed them two days ago, they were fine.  

He parted his lips, letting his tongue slide into her mouth.  She whimpered and his hands tightened on her thighs, the sound traveling right down to his crotch. 

This whole…waiting thing.  Was so new for him.  If any other woman made that sound, he’d have his face between her legs in no time at all…with their rousing consent in the form of ‘Fuck yes, Pietro!’ 

Her hips rolled down against his, the denim making it frustratingly difficult for either of them to get much out of it. 

“Should I…” her breath caught when he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.  “Should I take them off?” she murmured. 

“Only if you want to…” 

“Do you want me to?” 

He grunted and pressed his hips up towards hers.  “What do you think?” 

She shifted, her eyes closing as she wiggled her hips slowly against him.  “I think I should take them off…” 

“Want me to…???”  he asked as she rose off him, his hands poised on the waistband of his pajamas. 

She nodded.  “Just…just the pants.  Leave your underwear…”  Her hands deftly unbuttoned her jeans, tugging down the zipper.  She shimmied her hips and pushed them down, she folded them over a chair and crossed her arms across her torso, pulling her t-shirt off too. 

She had on a matching set of underwear, light blue with black lace trim.  And he might have been staring, because she crossed her arms, tapping her foot.  “Anty up, Maximoff.  Tit for tat.” 

He chuckled, lifting his hips and pushing his pajama bottoms down and off, noting the way she inhaled when he pushed them past his hips. 

She crossed the floor, climbing back on the bed with him, tucking herself beside him.   

He tried to steady his breath as she ran her hand from his shoulder all the way down his chest and stomach, stifling a laugh when she tickled the spot near his waist.  Her eyes widened when she let her gaze move further south. 

Her breath came out in pants, and her fingers inched down further and further, stopping just shy of the bulge in his shorts.  

He wanted to moan in frustration, buck his hips up, up, up…get her to touch it. 

No.  That wasn’t…that was rude.  More than rude, it was…

“Can I touch you?’ she asked, her voice no more than a whisper. 

He nodded.  “Yes, please…” 

The first brush of her fingers was tentative, but he was ready to explode, so it caused him to moan.  He bit his lip to keep quiet as she stroked lightly from his balls to the tip. 

“Does that feel good?” she asked, sounding surprised. 

“Everything you do feels good…” he murmured, clutching the sheets to keep from bucking up into her hand. 

“I’m sure you get this a lot…but…it’s big…” she whispered, her eyes meeting his momentarily. 

He huffed out a chuckle.  “You flatter me…” 

“I’m a little worried about…it fitting?  Like…it’s…gonna be…difficult?” 

He reached for her hands, pulling her up so she was tucked under his arm.  “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with…” he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.  “And if you decide that we should…I’ll be gentle. I’ll make it good for you. I promise.” 

Her arm slid across his stomach.  “I don’t think I’m ready…I thought I was and…” 

No, she definitely was not ready.  Not by a long shot.

“No…you are not ready…” he kissed her again.  “ _Guska_ …you are in such a hurry…” 

“I’m twenty-five, Pietro.  Not getting any younger here.” 

“There are other things we can do…other things we SHOULD do before we do…THAT. I haven’t put my hands on you…” he stroked her belly with his thumb, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to her lips.  “I haven’t put my mouth on you…” 

She inhaled sharply, clutching at him.  “Please.  Put your mouth on me…put your hands on me…please…something, because I need…”  She didn’t finish her sentence, because she pressed her mouth against his.  “Please touch me, Pietro…please…” 

She reached behind her, popping the clasp of her bra and tugging it off and down her arms.  “Please touch me….” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed the muses? Comments and kudos are their favorite.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut in this chapter, y'all. Smut, political intrigue, conniving Sitwells, tennis, this chapter has it all!
> 
> Sorry for the late update. I had finals this week. I get a free pass for that, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [heyfrenchfreudiana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heyfrenchfreudiana) for beta reading this for me! 
> 
> For the first part, all the italics are flashbacks. :)

_She inhaled sharply, clutching at him.  “Please.  Put your mouth on me…put your hands on me…please…something, because I need…”  She didn’t finish her sentence, because she pressed her mouth against his.  “Please touch me, Pietro…please…”_

_She reached behind her, popping the clasp of her bra and tugging it off and down her arms.  “Please touch me….”_

Darcy shivered, even though her room was pleasantly warm. Her hand crept down between her legs to feel the slickness still there.  She hadn’t really known she could get wet like that.  All of that was her.

Well…because of him. But…

_He leaned over, pressing his face between her breasts as he helped her shimmy out of her panties.  She’d thought she’d at least be nervous to be completely nude in front of him.  But maybe it was the way he was looking at her, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful.  Or maybe it was her hormones, on overdrive and making her skin too hot to be confined in clothing.  Combined, it made her want to consider never putting another piece of clothing on her body ever again._

_His mouth closed around her nipple and she moaned, her hips rocking against his in a way that she was sure was clumsy and ungainly, but he didn’t seem to mind.  His hands gripped her waist so he could rock up against her, meet her thrusts.  She could feel him, hot and hard and pressed against her.  She could feel herself almost gushing, the gentle scrape of his boxers against her more sensitive areas was blinding._

She wanted to run the experience over and over in her mind.  Never forget it.  Because it was quite possibly one of her favorites.  She hadn’t wanted it to end.  If she could have lived with him in that bed for the rest of her days, she would have.

_He eventually laid her down, back on his pillows, as he slid in beside her.  His hand trailed down her body, between her legs, down to her warmth.  She parted her legs to give him better access, feeling two of his fingers split her open, rubbing from her opening up to her clit.  No one had ever touched her there like that.  Save herself.  She moaned openly when he circled her clit, his fingers barely touching her._

_He stopped too soon for her tastes, sucking his fingers into his mouth and making her want him even more if that were possible.  He sat up, his back against the wall and pulled her into his lap sideways, supporting her with one arm and reaching for one of her hands with the other.  He pushed it down between her legs._

_“Show me…”_

It was without a doubt, the most erotic moment of her life.  His hand clasped around hers, pressed down against the heat between her legs.  His tongue darting out to lick his lips, his pupils blown wide with arousal.  She’d remember how he looked until the day she died.

_Her hand shook in his as she let it slide down the familiar path, down past her belly button, through the wiry hair and into the smooth slickness of her sex.  His hand was over hers the whole time.  She showed him how she touched herself.  Slow, tentative brushes of her fingers against her labia.  Small tight circles around her clit with two fingers.  She showed how hard to press, how fast to go.  He was a quick study, leaning over to kiss her as he took over, rubbing her clit just like she showed him._

_Her moans sounded like the loudest thing in the room.  The sound reverberated off the walls, growing louder as his fingers slowed._

_“Pietro…” she grasped at him, pulling his face towards hers.  She kissed him wildly with abandon as he let his fingers slide down, down, down towards her opening._

_He teased one fingertip in and out of her, delving in a little further each time._

_She was surprised by how big his finger felt as he slowly, slowly inched it up inside her._

_She whimpered, letting her head fall back._

_“Tell me if it hurts, I don’t want to hurt you…” he murmured, his voice was deep, raspy, throaty.  Like a bow across strings._

_“You’re not…” she managed, grinding herself into his lap.  She could still feel him against her hip.  Hard and unyielding.  She wanted to touch him.  Wrap her hand around him and make him feel as good as he was making her feel.  Make him feel as beautiful as he made her feel._

_It almost hurt when he slid in the second finger.  She must have clamped down on his fingers because he withdrew them, pumping his fingertips lightly in and out and pressing kisses to her neck.  “Are you alright, Guska?”_

She wasn’t sure what “ _Guska_ ” meant, but she intended to ask him.  It sounded cute, and she liked it.  Liked that he gave her a pet name.  She wanted to find one for him, but anything she thought of sounded stupid.

_She nodded, closing her eyes so she could concentrate on relaxing her pelvic muscles.  “S’just a little tight…” she mumbled._

_He made a sound in the back of his throat, propping her up so her breasts were almost level with his face.  She worried about putting all her weight on him, but he didn’t seem to mind as his lips closed around her nipple, his tongue flicking lightly at the stiff peak._

_That certainly helped her relax.  He started working both fingers into her and instead of stinging, she just felt full.  So full.  More full than she’d ever felt before.  And this was just two fingers._

She didn’t know how she was ever going to fit anything larger up there.  She knew things would stretch.  She knew that the lady bits opened like a flower.  She’d seen all the illustrations; she’d read all the books.  But when it came down to it, she wondered if maybe, MAYBE they, the sex expert powers that be, hadn’t taken into account for Pietro Maximoff’s considerable…girth.

She wasn’t even sure how big it actually was.  Was it rude to ask him for measurements?  How would she even go about doing that?  It wasn’t like she could tell him she was knitting him a sweater or something.

“There’s an image…” she muttered to herself.

_When he added his thumb into the mix, she very nearly jack-knived off the bed.  At the first brush of the pad of his thumb over her thoroughly teased clit, she let out a loud “FUCK” and squeezed his fingers so hard she was sure she must have hurt him._

_He just chuckled, the noise muffled by her breast as he kept up his exquisite torture of all her erogenous zones.  He was very good at multi-tasking.  Just…very fucking good at it._

_The fingers he had inside her…he started…stroking with them. Stroking her walls.  Inside.  He moved his thumb in tandem, massaging her slowly._

_“How does that feel?” he asked, releasing her breast with a pop.  “Does that hurt?”_

_“No…” she groaned.  “Don’t stop…please…please don’t stop…”_

_“I won’t…”_

Darcy was a little bit embarrassed by how much she’d begged him.  Apparently, all it took was some fancy fingering to turn her into a quivering mess.

The orgasm surprised her. She’d had them before, obviously.  This was just so much…more intense. There was so much…going on down there that she couldn’t really feel it build. At first, it felt like she had to pee.  Which was embarrassing.  But before she could say anything, it happened. Her muscles clenched him as her hips bucked up, searching for more.  It was a hot burst of sensation that had her clutching him, squeezing his fingers as his movements slowed.  Her raspy moans echoed in the room and her body shook as he pressed kisses to her temple, brushing her hair out of her face with his other hand.

_She wiped at her eyes as he eased his fingers out of her, wiping them on his sheets before gathering her up into his arms.  “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”_

_“No…” she shook her head, turning so she was straddling him again.  “No…it felt…wonderful…”_

_He smiled, so she leaned down to kiss him.  She parted her lips and ran her tongue along the seam of his mouth.  He hummed, low and rumbling as he let his hands glide down her sides to rest on her hips._

_“Can I…can I…touch you?” she ventured._

_He nodded, his breath coming out in soft puffs as she rose up on her knees, allowing him to push down his underwear.  He coaxed her over to one side, laying down further on the pillows._

_She propped up with one hand under her head, pressing her knees together when she finally looked down at it.  In all its stiff proud glory.  She wanted to touch it, but he had his hand around it, sliding up and down the shaft.  The head was wet, slick looking, mushroom shaped.  Every stroke of his hand brought the foreskin up and down with it.  Uncircumcised.  She may or may not have looked that up on the internet._

_She let her hand travel down his arm, feeling him jolt when she touched him, her fingertips grazing down his bicep, his forearm, down to where his hand encircled…his…his…member._

_“Show me?” she whispered, echoing his earlier request._

Darcy squirmed under the covers, debating on just abdicating her title now so they could just…hole up in his room and do all the sexy things.  She wanted to do everything with him.  Everything.

His dick…dick? Yes.  His dick had felt…different than she’d expected.  Stiff was a good word to describe it.  Hard, but with some give.

He’d wrapped her hand around it, closing his around hers, instructing her in hushed murmurs.  Eventually removing his hand and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.  She’d rested her head on his chest and worked him just like he showed her.  Squeeze and release, thumb over the head, spread the pre cum around.  Repeat.  Get faster…slowly.

Seemed like he was the one with the bum deal, having to stimulate so many areas on her at once when all she had to do was stroke her hand up and down, squeezing on the uptake.

His whole body grew taut; she could feel his heart racing as he choked out that he was close.  She lifted her head, wanting to watch it happen.  She gasped when it did, not expecting it to just…shoot out like that.

He hadn’t been loud, compared to her. He’d groaned, his hips bucking into her hand as more of it oozed out over her fist.

All in all, it was a pretty messy ordeal.  He had it all over him, his stomach and thighs.  And her hand was covered.  She released him when he asked her to, pulling her hand up close to her face to inspect it.  Pulling it between her fingers, watching it stretch slightly.  She even stuck her tongue out to taste it, reasoning that she was going to let him do that in her mouth at some point.

He’d groaned when she did it, almost as loudly as he had when he came.

_“You are killing me, Darcy…”_

She clutched her pillow close, her eyelids drooping.  She wanted to sleep and then she didn’t.  Fought the heaviness in her eyelids that was pulling them down.

She pulled her blankets over her more, reasoning that she wasn’t really much of a fighter anyway. Not much of a lover either, but she was working on that.

* * *

 

“You certainly are in an excellent mood…”  Natasha arched a brow and bounced the tennis ball twice before walking down to the other end of the court. 

Darcy bounced on her feet.  “No reason not to be.”

“I guess not…”  Natasha bounced the ball twice before hitting a serve in her direction.

She met it with ease, but it was an easy serve.  “What is that supposed to mean?”

Her bodyguard simply shook her head and returned the serve, a sly smile gracing her lips for the majority of the game.  Darcy was pretty sure she knew SOMETHING, but she wasn’t really caring at all right then.

Tennis between them never really got heated.  It was really a way to exercise, even though Darcy kind of hated it.  But it seemed like all the royals did it, so here she was, schlepping her lazy butt around a court in a short white tennis skirt.

She sensed Jasper's arrival.  All the wildlife ran for cover.

She snorted at the image, but no, he wasn't really all that bad.  In fact, he'd been surprisingly absent for the past few weeks.  Not that she was complaining, it had given her time to hang out with Pietro.

But, it looked like fun time was over, given the look on Jasper's face.

She asked Natasha for a water break, crossing the court over to her bag, where he was standing awkwardly in his suit, smacking sweat bees and looking at something on his phone.

She approached him, pulling her water bottle out of her bag.

"Jasper.  How are you?" she asked cautiously.

"I wish I could say that I'm well, Your Majesty..." he replied in a short, terse tone of voice.

 _Great..._ she thought.  _He's in a mood._

"Sorry to hear that..."

"Thank you, Princess.  I have a few topics I needed to discuss with you, if you have time?" he turned to face Natasha.  He never asked Natasha to leave before.  Darcy bristled immediately.

Natasha shrugged, taking his look as a sign to go for a walk.  She turned immediately and walked to another bench a few feet away.

"Princess Darcy, I don't know if you've been paying attention to the news on the political front, but the United Council has decided to overturn Royal Proclamation Number Twelve..."

She tried not to stare blankly at him.  She had learned all the royal proclamations, but it wasn't really something that was fresh in her mind.

"Royal Proclamation Number Twelve..." he continued, "Otherwise known as the clause preventing women from ruling Stanicily?" 

"Oh?" she frowned.  "They overturned it?"

"Indeed.  In lieu of you being your father's only heir, they've decided to overturn it."

Her heart dropped down somewhere into her small intestine.  "So that means..."

"It means that you are now next in line to rule Stanicily."

_Oh God no...that was my only way out..._

"Okay..." she said hesitantly.

"Okay?  I thought this would come as great news to you!"

"Um, I'm confused,” she deflected, “I thought you were in a bad mood?"

"Right, well...in spite of this wonderful development, I'm afraid I have to once again be the bearer of bad news."

She honestly couldn't think of anything worse than a lifetime of heartburn and hemorrhoids.

He opened up a folder on his phone, handing it to her.  "Feel free to scroll through and see all of them."

Pictures.  Tons of HD pictures...she started to feel sicker and sicker as she realized what they were.  Photo upon photo of her with Pietro.  Holding hands as they ran to her car.  Eating together in the diner where his sister worked.  Making out in the front seat of the royal Jag.  This looked...bad.  Not good at all.

"Where did you get these?" she demanded.

"I purchased them.  From the Daily Bugle's very enthusiastic photographer."

She felt her eyes go wide.  Her heart was beating so loudly; Jasper could probably hear it.

"Now, it goes without saying, Princess...that you are very much entitled to a personal life...but it also goes without saying that as a public figure, your personal life is a very narrow slice of the whole pie...so to speak..."

She bit her lips to keep from crying.

"And with this new development having come to light around the same time as the announcement of your ability to succeed your father on the throne, well...well, it looks bad for your Highness to be...frolicking about with a bike courier.  It looks even worse if the bike courier was involved in an accident with the royal limousine a few months ago...I hope I am making myself clear."

Heat rose in her cheeks and she blurted, "No.  It's not clear, Jasper.  Please.  Make it clear to me."

"As your advisor, I would have to advise your Highness to distance yourself from the boy."

_The BOY?  How condescending.  More of a man than you are.  You weasel._

"Are you telling me who I can and cannot date?"

"Absolutely not.  I am merely here to advise and to remind you of the law that is STILL in place regarding suitable suitors for those in line for the crown. The boy has no title, not to mention any family to speak of, other than a sister.  There is no way of even proving he is who he says he is, so I would advise you to distance yourself."

"Thank you, Jasper.  I have received your advice and now there is something I would like to ask of you.  A favor, if you will."

"I will do anything her Highness desires."

"Take your advice and shove it up your ass.  Sideways."  She smirked, feeling proud of herself.  She took another sip of water and picked up her racket again, never so impatient to get back to playing.  She felt like she needed to hit round things with a tennis racket.  It would be therapeutic to imagine that they were all Jasper's face.

"If you refuse my advice, well...I will have to perform my duty and report this to the King.  I was planning on keeping this a secret from your father, but I fear that you don't realize the magnitude of your decisions here..."

_Blackmail?  Really?_

"Fine," she spat, noting how his shoulders relaxed a little.  "Let's go talk to Daddy, shall we?"  She looked over at Natasha on the bench, "NAT, let's go.  King’s study.  Stat."

Jasper's mouth was hanging open for a few seconds before he got with the program and followed her across the lawn.

Darcy's steps were sure and quick, suddenly wishing she could trust her lungs and her sports bra to let her run all the way to the house.  Beat Jasper's stupid butt there.

She was sweaty and out of breath by the time she burst into her father’s study. Colin Sitwell was standing to his right as he signed some documents.

“Darcy?” her father looked up, surprised to see her.  “To what do I owe the pleasure, daughter of mine?”

“Daddy…Daddy…” she huffed for a second, eyeing Natasha and finally blurting it out.  “I have a boyfriend.”

_God, that sounded lame._

“Do you?  Is it Prince Thor?  I know you two have been spending a lot of time together…” She could tell he wasn’t completely serious.  They’d had this talk before. 

She frowned, shaking her head.  “No.  No.  I actually haven’t spoken to Thor much at all…”

“That’s not what the papers are saying…” he teased, looking up from the documents and grinning.

“Daddy, he’s not...he’s not…he’s a bike courier.”

He raised his eyebrows, setting his pen down on the desk and pushing up to stand. “A bike courier, you say?”

It was of course, at this point that Jasper decided to finally catch up to them.  “Yes, a bike courier, your majesty…” he bowed after speaking, a breach of etiquette, for sure.  “I apologize for bursting in, but you realize that this is of the utmost importance, given the recent decision by the Council?”

“Indeed…” he said gravely, but Darcy detected a twinkle in his eye that had her not really worrying so much.  “It would appear that whoever the Princess chooses will become a matter of national intrigue.”

“Precisely, Your Grace.”

“Darcy, my dear, I would like to meet the boy.  Invite him to the opera this Saturday.  And to dinner beforehand.”

“He’s not a boy…” Darcy corrected gently.  “Not a boy.”

Her father smiled. “The young man, then…he IS young, right?”

She chuckled, “YES.  Of course he’s young.”

“Very good.  I look forward to meeting him.  He must be extraordinary indeed to have captured your very discerning eye.  The discerning eye who is bored with Prince Thor…”

“I didn’t say he bored me…I just said I wasn’t really interested.”

“Well.  More interesting than Prince Thor.  I must meet him.”

She could practically feel Jasper rolling his eyes behind her as he spoke up yet again.  “Your MAJESTY.  Surely, you understand that a Princess cannot marry a COMMONER.  Especially if the PRINCESS is to become QUEEN someday?”

Her father waved his hand flippantly.  “Just last week, she couldn’t even become Queen.  I must say, Parliament is doing some wonderful things lately.  Let’s just wait and see how things pan out, shall we?” he winked in Darcy’s direction.

“But Sir…he’s a bike courier.”

“And I have always maintained that my daughter will marry who she wants.  I have never played into the political PIMPING that my fellow monarchs seem so fond of.  If she marries, it will be for love, or I feel I might have failed in raising her.”

Darcy felt a swell of pride for her father in that moment.  Say what they will about his political savvy, he was a hell of a great dad.  King Mark of Stanicily would not go down in the history books as one of Stanicily’s best kings.  But he’d go down in his daughter’s book as her absolute favorite person.  Sucky king.  Great dad.

“Thank you, Daddy…”

“You are most welcome, my dear.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must finish signing these papers…”  He kissed her on the forehead and gently turned and pushed her through the door. 

Jasper didn’t come with her, but she still felt like this was a victory.  And Pietro was coming over for dinner on Saturday.  At the palace.  Because.  Yeah.  That was a thing her boyfriend could do.  Apparently.

She looked over at Natasha, who was staring back behind them at the closed door to her father’s study, a contemplative look on her face. 

* * *

 

“Your MAJESTY, I must interject…there is no way this is a good idea.  I don’t trust the boy.  Not as far as I could throw him…” Jasper insisted.

“And that isn’t far…” Colin quipped, causing the king to snicker slightly.

Jasper shot his own father a look.  Why wasn’t he helping him?

“If push comes to shove, we could always give him a title, couldn’t we?” King Mark waved his hand again.  “Make him a Duke of something.”

 _Duke of the Dumpster…_ Jasper thought to himself.

“Of course we could, sir,” said Colin.

Jasper protested, “But Prince Thor.  He would really be such a better match for the princess…”

“You distrust my daughter’s judgement?” The king’s voice boomed.

_Of course.  If anyone trusted either of you to make decisions, there wouldn’t be a position for my father or I._

“I’m not saying that, sir.  I’m simply saying that a marriage would be better planned by those whose…hormones aren’t involved.”

“I happen to think Darcy’s judgement is wonderful.  I trust it implicitly.  I mean, she’s never liked you.”

Jasper pressed his lips together, his face reddening.  “Your Grace…I—“

“I think that will be enough, Jasper.  The King has some work to do…” Colin took a few steps towards his son.  “Let’s leave him be for a time…”

Jasper found himself being rushed out of the study, more protests fresh on his lips, but spluttering out like a backfiring car. This was NOT the plan they’d discussed at all. Not the plan they’d spent years to put into place.  Not the plan that was now completely ruined by the untimely meeting between the Princess and the courier. The courier wasn’t in a position to expand their influence to Asgard.  The most they could hope for was a discount on shipping prices.  Not the political influence he’d hoped to wield at all.

What was the reason for the alliance between the two countries?  Why had they pushed and pushed for the damn luxury liner in honor of King Odin’s wife?   

He also felt that King Mark should be told about how they had literally paid the miserable waste of space off for hitting him with the royal limo.  And now he was running around sullying the princess for her true husband. Not that any of that really mattered in this day and age, but honestly.  Jasper and Colin had kept other suitors away for the past seven years with well-timed bribes.  Why couldn’t they do it again with this one? 

He rounded on his father as they walked down a hall.  “Why are you undermining me?  I thought the plan was to marry her off to the Asgardian prince.”

“The plan has changed now that she can rule the country…Thor is heir to the throne of Asgard.  His father will never agree to this union now.  There will be too much back and forth and fighting for power.”

“But the courier!” Jasper sputtered.  “She can’t marry a courier.”

Colin made a noise of disgust.  “Of course not.”

“What was that about making him a Duke?”

“It won’t ever get that far.  Listen.  Just.  Relax.  This is all going according to plan.”  

“What about Prince Thor?  How can the plan even go on?  Union of the nations was the plan. Expanding our influence to Asgard was the plan.  Let’s just throw more money at this...street urchin and be done with it.” Jasper hated not being in the loop.  “Pay him off and try again with Prince Thor…surely there could be some way King Odin could be convinced of the union.”    

Colin clucked his tongue, “My dear son.  There is more than one Asgardian prince.”  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun Dun DUNNNNNNNNNN!


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I bookended with oral sex...
> 
> Don't judge me. ;) 
> 
> This chapter gives me so many feelssss. God. These two. I want to wrap them up in a warm blanket and shield them from the world. 
> 
> Just a hint of the angst yet to come. :/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to heyfrenchfreudiana for her awesome beta work on this. :D

"Darcy...Darcy..."  Pietro gasped, still trying to keep quiet, half expecting someone to burst into the room and haul him to jail for debauching the Princess. 

She was on her knees in front of him, her lips wrapped around his dick as she gave him the blow job of his life.  This wasn’t the first time; they had done this before. Not that she wasn’t a natural…but she needed some coaching that first time:

_"Ow, ow, no teeth..."_

_"Yes...you can use your hand too."_

_"Yes, please use your hand, don't gag yourself."_

But if she was anything, she was intuitive.  And she had picked up on the technique really quickly.  What she was doing this time...felt amazing.    

He’d first known he was in trouble when she wriggled her tongue up the underside of the head, her eyes boring up into his as she followed her tongue with her thumb, releasing him with a pop.  She paid attention to everything.  Every twitch, every sound he made. 

God, he was in BIG trouble. 

He was gripping the side of her dresser in her room and trying not to cry out.  It was hard...difficult...and hard.  But her door wasn't locked and he could hear the staff walking up and down the hall outside her door. 

True, they’d done this before, but always in his apartment.  Always alone.  Always free to make noise and take as long as they wanted… Not in Darcy's bedroom.  In the palace.  Surrounded by guards and staff and advisors who absolutely did not like knocking.  Barging into rooms while announcing themselves.  Throwing open doors like they expected him to be fucking her openly in the tea room or something. 

Of course…now that he thought about it…this wasn’t much better.  Getting his dick sucked in the virgin Princess’ bedroom.  Surrounded by silk and lace and opulently decorated walls.  He was pretty sure she had a teddy bear over there on the bed.  Staring him down. 

Her hand slid up his hip and under his shirt, her fingers tickling him slightly and making him grunt and grab her hand, lacing their finger as she licked up the length of his cock like a popsicle.  His attention off the judgmental teddy bear and back on her big blue eyes.    

He didn’t want to take his eyes off her again.  Fresh arousal surged through him at the sight of her lips stretching around his girth. 

Her eyes closed as she moved further down his shaft than she usually did, he could feel her throat fighting the intrusion and he reached instinctively for her head.  She groaned around him, her tongue stroking the underside of his cock. 

She bobbed her head, keeping him there, towards the back of her throat and he let out a strangled cry, pressing his fist between his teeth to muffle the sounds. 

He let go of her head, gripping the dresser to keep himself steady as she brought him closer and closer. 

"Darcy...I'm...I'm close..." he whispered, feeling like it was the loudest sound in the room.   

She hummed around him, her hands moving up his hips as she moved her mouth up and down his entire length. Sucking hard on the head.  Lips wet and making slurping sounds that were at once so filthy and so fucking hot that he couldn’t think straight. 

"I'm...I'm about to..." 

She hummed again and he was coming.  Coming hard into her mouth as she worked her hand up and down the shaft.  He was nothing in that moment, except the sensations rippling through his body.  He’d never felt anything like how she was making him feel and he almost blurted it out.  For the millionth time.  Blurted out his feelings while she had his dick in her mouth no less.  Stupid, stupid, stupid…

It’s like a fairy tale, where the princess blows the lowly stable boy and he tells her he loves her while his softening cock is still encased in her royal mouth.  

She pulled back slowly, swiping her tongue around the head and swallowing. 

He collapsed back against the wall, sliding slowly down to the floor.  "Holy fuck..."

She grinned, biting her bottom lip and reaching over to gently tuck him back into his underwear.  She ran her tongue over the place she'd bitten and stood up, straightening her top and smoothing the front of her skirt. 

He watched her walk over to the mirror and fix her hair where he'd mussed it, combing it back in place before reapplying her lipstick.  Popping a mint into her mouth and seating herself primly on the divan by the window. 

He chuckled lightly at the poise and precision in which she could return to her regal stance.  Regal in outward appearances only.  Because he knew the buttons to push to get her to drop it.  To get to the real woman underneath the careful grooming and the finishing school.  To get to Darcy.  Darcy, the woman he loved with all his heart.  The woman he was considering giving up all his principles for. The woman who had mentioned the possibility of him receiving a title at some point.  A title that meant that he could marry a princess.  And would he be interested if the opportunity arose? 

He reached down to tuck his dress shirt back into his pants, buttoning and zipping them before crawling across the floor over to where she was sitting.  Pressing a kiss to her stocking covered knee before nudging them apart. 

Hell yes, he’d be interested.  He’d be the Duke of where-the-hell-ever if it meant he’d get to be with her.  Get to be the only person to ever do this for her.  Get to be the one she turned to for comfort when she was tired from ruling a nation.  Hell yes, he was interested.  It wasn’t what he’d said to her, of course.  He’d merely smiled, nodding his head.  _“Yes.  That sounds like something I could be interested in…”_ Even though inside, he’d been shouting, _I LOVE YOU, Darcy Katherine Lewis.  I LOVE YOU and I would do anything, anything to be with you._

"Can I return the favor?" he murmured, looking up at her from the floor and grinning in a way he hoped wasn't creepy or weird. 

She giggled, parting her legs a little more to allow him to move between them.  He could smell her arousal, hot and sticky under her skirt.  He let his hands skim up her legs, catching on her garters as he rucked the hem up over her knees. 

"I really like these..." he popped the elastics. 

"I noticed..."

"I really...really like these..." he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, right along the elastic. 

She shivered, spreading her legs more.  "I can wear them more often if you'd like..." 

He stifled a moan.  He was so utterly undeserving of her.  He needed the rest of their lives to deserve her. He kissed up her thigh, up towards her panties and was just starting to nose around the lace when someone knocked loudly on the door. 

He was scrambling to stand up and get across the room when he heard Natasha's voice as she entered the room.  He honestly should have known it was her, she was the only one who seemed to knock around here.    

Pietro was trying to calm the heart attack that had suddenly come over him and Darcy was laughing.  LAUGHING.  Laughing and fixing her skirt. 

"Pietro...calm down," she teased, standing up as Natasha eyed the two of them. 

"I knocked…” she shrugged. “Tried to give you some warning.  You okay, Piet?" Natasha held her hand out as if she was trying to calm him. 

He took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. "Never better.  Might need something to kick-start my heart again..." he thumped his chest for emphasis. 

Natasha rolled her eyes.  "Ten-minute warning for dinner." 

Pietro's heart leapt right back into his chest again.  He'd met the King earlier and he'd seemed nice enough.  If a little preoccupied.  But he supposed ruling a nation would explain a little preoccupation.

He'd even met both Asgardian princes, who were here visiting.  He'd liked them all well enough, even if Prince Thor had hugged him tighter than he thought should have been allowed.  He got the idea that it was maybe because of the tabloid fiasco?  He wasn’t completely sure, but it was absolutely made clear to him that Thor wasn’t going to fight him for Darcy’s hand.  Not that he’d have been much match for the crown prince.  Even in his peak condition, Thor still had a good thirty pounds on him.  And he was a decorated soldier too.  There was that.   

Prince Loki seemed as indifferent to his existence as he would have been of a cockroach.  He perhaps showed him a little more deference.  Since he didn’t squish him under his heel.  His handshake was limp and his eyes barely skimmed his face.  Of course, he showed Darcy barely more attention than that.  And he ignored his brother altogether, so maybe it was a compliment?  It didn’t really matter to him one way or the other.   

Who he absolutely didn't like and who he wasn't altogether thrilled with, was Darcy's advisor, Jasper. 

He'd looked down his nose at him, brought up the settlement they'd paid him, his job, the neighborhood where he lived, AND the fact that he wasn't Stanicilian.  And even though the King had sniffed and told Jasper that their country was founded by immigrants and that the royal family themselves were descendants of immigrants, he couldn’t help but think that it left a shadow over the relatively good evening they were having. 

He’d lived in a homeless shelter for almost a year of his adult life and he’d never felt like such a charity case as he did when Jasper looked at him.    

It almost ruined the evening.  To the tune of his fist breaking Jasper’s face.  And the definite jail time that would have followed.  Except, Darcy happened. 

Her eyes flashed and she waved her hand flippantly in Jasper’s face.  “That will be ALL. And I’ll thank you to remember yourself and treat my guest with respect.  Everyone else here has managed.” 

Jasper’s face had screwed up for a moment and Pietro almost thought he was going to argue.  But he didn’t.  He calmed his face and bowed towards Pietro.  “My apologies, sir.”  He spun on his heel and left. 

He knew it had probably killed Jasper to do that.  He glanced over at Darcy, who was still fuming.  She tightened her grip on his arm.  “Shall we?” she asked, motioning towards the next room. 

It was a sitting room.  Another one.  With a fireplace. 

Prince Thor approached and struck up a conversation about Lacrosse, which...wasn't really something he'd ever played, but it was a welcome distraction from everything that had just happened. 

Loki was sitting in one of the chairs, staring into the empty fireplace, and Darcy was having a whispered conversation with her father. 

He was a bit worried about what they’d said.  It hadn’t looked like it went well.  But she had assured him that there wasn’t anything for him to worry about.    

And then they'd all gone their separate ways, the Asgardians to the tennis courts, the King to his chambers, and he and Darcy to hers.  Where...some very un-princess-like behavior happened.

“Are you hungry?  I told the chef what you like…hopefully he got it right…” Darcy’s voice brought him out of his musing.   

His pulse slowed and he felt himself calming down.  It was just dinner.  With the King.  No…with his girlfriend’s dad.  And her mom.  Her mom was going to be there too.  He hadn’t met her yet. 

And there was the panic again.     

She took his jacket from the back of the chair where he'd laid it and held it out to him. 

She spent a few minutes fixing his hair.  He didn't mind because she scratched at his scalp and he honestly could just curl up on her lap whenever she did that.  It calmed him back down again.  There was still a little concentrated ball of stress there in his gut.  But at least he wasn’t radiating tension anymore.   

Once she'd deemed him unmussed; he offered his arm and they left her room.  He leaned down to kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear.  "Don't think you're getting off that easy..." 

He thrilled a little at the blush in her cheeks and wondered how he was going to live up to that promise. 

He would, though. 

* * *

 

Dinner was kind of a big deal.  It started at six and lasted two hours, according to Darcy.  Five courses.   And he'd actually had to study up on the right spoons and forks for everything. YouTube was very helpful.  He still wasn't sure which one to use for what.  He was hoping he could cheat off someone else without embarrassing himself too much. 

He was also hoping they didn't serve something weird.  Like snails. But she’d said the chef knew what he liked.  And all he had told Darcy was that he wasn’t picky.  Just don’t serve him bugs. Or shellfish.  Because he’d swell up like a balloon.  Allergies. 

The first course was crudités, which, as it turned out, was a little pile of chopped raw vegetables with a vinaigrette. There were a few different vegetables and It wasn't too difficult to maneuver. Nothing to cut, so he could just use his fork.  He was running all the rules from his YouTube cram session the previous night, trying to remember how to place the fork when he was done.  He cheated a little, glancing over at Darcy’s plate.    

The second course was soup.  Something green and pukey looking.  Like split pea soup, but not as thick.   

Asparagus Bisque, the server informed him before pouring a swirl of cream into the bowl with it. 

It wasn't bad, even given the color.  And it tasted like asparagus...which is what it was supposed to taste like.  He wasn't really looking for much more than that.  Taste like the ingredients used and not have any bugs in it.      

Despite all his research, Pietro was pretty sure he still looked out of place.  It took him a LOT longer to eat than everyone else.  There were so many rules about what spoon to use and what was considered rude.  And after the incident with Jasper earlier, he wanted to make a good impression on all these people.  So he made sure he was no more than two hand-widths away from the table, and he dipped his spoon into the pale green liquid and sipped from the side of the spoon like the elderly woman on YouTube had instructed. 

And it would have been fine if everyone hadn't been trying to talk to him.  It seemed like he'd no sooner have his spoon in the correct hand than someone would ask him a question and he'd have to put it down.  He finished no more than a third of his soup before the wait staff was removing the bowl. 

They brought out the main course next, which was grilled salmon on a bed of spring vegetables.  He wasn't sure exactly what vegetables they were because he didn't get more than a few bites of the salmon before they were taking it away as well.  The fish knife was awkward to hold.    

Pietro wondered if they were all plotting to starve him out or something.  He was certainly being talked to an awful lot for someone who had little to nothing in common with anyone at the table.

The King seemed more jovial now that his wife was here.  Lady Katherine was a lot like Darcy, if he was being honest.  She took an immediate liking to him and wanted to know everything about him.  About his sister.  How fascinating it was that he was a twin, how good he must be at his job, how she could never deal with anyone in a customer service setting.  How proud she was of Darcy for volunteering, how wonderful it was that he volunteered too. 

The next course was served before she could get into how sad it was that he had been an orphan and homeless.  Not that she would have talked about it, but it was bound to come up.   It was salad, which turned out to be endives, baby beets and a cheese plate.  The only reason he knew they were endives was that the wait staff announced it.

The conversation turned to Prince Loki during the salad course and Pietro was grateful for it. He could skimp a little on the rules if everyone was looking at Loki.  Now, why they couldn’t have done this on a course that wasn’t rabbit food and cheese, he didn’t know.     

There was a palate cleanser before dessert that he was told was lemon sorbet.  It tasted like someone had frozen lemon juice and served it to him with champagne.  It wasn’t bad, just not what he was expecting from sorbet.

Darcy’s foot nudged his under the table and she leaned over towards him.  “I liked your Boone’s Farm better…” she whispered. 

He smiled at her, looking down at the silver dish of lemony champagne and shook his head. It was a good thing, since this champagne probably cost more than what he made in a month.  All he could afford was Boone’s Farm.  Or something slightly more expensive on payday.     

The dessert turned out to be basil marinated melon balls.  He was only able to scoop a few of them into his mouth before the coffee was served, which he ended up drinking black because he couldn't for the life of him locate who had the cream, and he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself.    

It took the entire two hours and he felt completely wiped.  He'd never talked so much during a meal before. And he'd never felt so hungry afterwards either.  He was going to disturb everyone's opera experience with his growling stomach. 

Both Thor and Loki were accompanying them to the opera, but were luckily taking their own car.  He needed a break from Loki’s cold indifference and Thor’s need to fill all silences.    

He changed into the tuxedo Darcy had ordered for him, something that fit him far too well and probably cost far too much.  And then, someone came in to fix his hair.  And shave his face.  Which was weird.  He’d always done all of his own shaving up until now.  And he half expected the man to slice into his throat with the straight razor.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he got the single best shave of his life.  

His hair looked pretty good too.  All slicked back with something that smelled like lemongrass and gathered into a ponytail.  He looked...good.  Dapper.  

"Oh my god, you're so hot..." Darcy gushed, rubbing her hand over his face.  "I miss the beard, but...damn..." 

He couldn't help but preen a little, running his hand over his jaw and waggling his eyebrows.  “You like, _Guska?”_  

She giggled.  “I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers…” 

“Speaking of bed…” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her.  “How much time do we have?” 

She swatted him, “Not enough for anything you’re thinking of…” 

“That’s too bad…you look absolutely…stunning…gorgeous…so classy…” 

She did.  She looked beautiful. Not that she didn’t always look beautiful.  He was rather fond of all of her looks.  Incognito with her hoodie pulled over her head and huge sunglasses covering her face.  Trying to fit in with his friends at the pub in her designer jeans and blouses that were made for her.  Buck naked on his flannel sheets, her eyes squeezed shut as he slid two fingers inside her, her hair fanned out over his pillow, cheeks flushed.  That one was a particular favorite…if he was being honest.

But this.  This was a good look too.  Her hair piled on her head, defying gravity.  Wearing a dark golden gown, tucked in all the right places.  Big billowing skirt. 

“Classy, huh?  Well.  I guess I probably SHOULDN’T ruin that image and tell you that I’m not wearing any panties…right?  I shouldn’t tell you that?”  She gripped his hand and winked. 

Okay.  Okay.  This look was his new favorite.  Classy as fuck and no panties, winking at him and biting her bottom lip.  Permanent memory bank material.  Forever, he’d remember how she looked right now.     

He thanked whoever was listening...God...whoever...for letting his bike get hit by the limo that day.  For bringing her into his life. 

For allowing her to see past his douchey exterior and bringing out something better in him that he hadn’t even known was there. 

He leaned down to kiss her, his hands sliding around her waist as he pulled her close. 

"Darcy..." 

"Hmm?" 

"I love you..." he murmured, feeling his face grow hot at the confession.  Wanting at once to hear her repeat it and to take the words back again. 

She didn't say anything for a few seconds, her eyes widening and her mouth forming an 'o' before she leaned up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his again.  "I love you too." 

"God…you have no idea how happy that makes me..." 

"I have some idea..."   

He didn’t want to mention anything other than happy thoughts, but the next few words just came tumbling out, "And even if we can't...if we don't end up together…"

She silenced him with another kiss. "Don't.  We can do anything we want." 

He smiled down at her, opting to kiss her again rather than argue.  He'd simply have to cling to every moment, cherish every single one like it was the last, because at any minute, the rug could slide out from under them and everything could come crashing back down to earth.  He knew that.  It was realistic to realize that.  Judging by the way her father had acted that day…there was a very real chance he wouldn’t be able to marry her.  He knew that.  And he wasn’t going to ask her to abdicate for him.  There was no way.  He couldn’t ask her to give that up for him. 

But for right now.  For tonight.  She was his.  He was literally the luckiest man on earth, because she was on his arm. 

His stomach chose this moment to growl loudly, which made her giggle again.  "Did you not get enough to eat?" 

He laughed, "I didn't have enough time...I was trying to remember what spoon to use…” 

"Well...you looked great pretending to eat…” she teased. “Sorry it didn't work out for you...wanna stop on the way to the opera house?" 

"We don't have to...I don't want to be late." 

"Okay.  I hate to play the Princess card...but...they'll hold the curtain until we're there." 

His eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious?" 

She shrugged.  "Kind of comes with the territory.  I usually get there on time, but if I can't use my royal authority to get my boyfriend a cheeseburger, then I don't know what kind of princess I am. Let him eat a cheeseburger."

* * *

 

The burger really hit the spot, even if he did have to eat it with the napkins stuffed in his collar and spread out over his lap in some kind of weird paper quilt barrier for everything that fell off the sandwich in the process of him devouring it. 

He was wiping his face off and chewing a piece of gum by the time they pulled up in front of the opera house. 

There were paparazzi.  Lots of them. It was an experience he’d been spared in the past...only having to deal with the aftermath.  When the pictures were in the papers. 

This...the whole flashing cameras and loud yelling was kind of...

Intense. 

But she hung on his arm, smiling up at him, keeping him grounded.  Which was good.  Because it was almost too much.  He had so much respect for her, having to deal with this on almost a daily basis.    

He felt almost dazed by the time they made it into the opera box.  Which was huge.  Four rows of plush seating, and only four people inside. 

Natasha and the rest of the security detail were stationed elsewhere in the theater. Outside the door, in the aisles, on the stairs.

So it was just the two of them.  And Prince Thor and Prince Loki.  The latter of which was looking extremely bored.  The former was glancing around at the other boxes excitedly. 

The opera itself seemed pretty interesting.  Faust.  A man sold his soul to the devil.  Or something like that. 

Darcy spent most of the first couple of acts explaining what was going on.  After that, he could pretty much follow along. 

Of course, he'd follow along a lot better if she didn't keep stroking his thigh like she was. 

He responded by leaning over to press his lips right below her earlobe.  A spot he'd learned about in his various explorations of her…he was becoming an expert.  Not to toot his own horn or anything. 

Her eyelids fluttered when his lips touched her skin and he had to strongly remind himself that they weren't alone in the opera box. 

Not that either Loki or Thor were paying attention to them.  Thor appeared to be trying to get the attention of a lady in one of the other opera boxes. And Loki was raptly paying attention, not to the stage, but to an area of the auditorium down towards the front of the theater. 

It still didn't really seem like a smart idea to grope the Princess of Stanicily in a packed opera house while sharing the box with two foreign princes. 

Maybe if the two foreign princes weren't here. 

But they were. 

So he gently moved her hand further down his leg, lacing his fingers with hers and stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

* * *

 

The second intermission was the longest one. And came with the knowledge that both of the Princes had to leave early.  

Loki made some mumbled excuse while pulling out his phone and stalking from the opera box with his coat over his arm. 

Thor had apparently introduced himself to the young lady in the other box and was taking her for drinks.    

Which left both Darcy and Pietro alone in the opera box.  Which had his heart beating wildly as they took their seats. 

A little further back than they'd originally been sitting.  No longer in the front row of seats, but in the third row.    

Her hand moved a little more up his thigh than she'd originally had it.  Her fingers slightly brushing over his rapidly stiffening length.  But like hell she was going to get him twice in a row.  He’d promised.  Plus, she had no panties on.  The knowledge of which hadn’t left his mind since she’d told him.   

He had an idea.  Which he hoped wouldn’t get them in trouble.   

He grasped her hand, catching her eye briefly before slipping out of his tuxedo jacket and sliding down to the floor.  Her eyes widened as he quickly lifted her skirt and crawled underneath it. 

For all he knew, she was still pretending to watch the opera through her opera glasses. 

But he was nosing up her thighs, sucking lightly and tonguing lightly along the satiny garters.  Arousal surged between his legs when he realized she was wearing them again.  Different ones.   With no panties to impede him from his goal.  It was like the best of both worlds.  She could wear the garters and he could pleasure her unimpeded.   

He nosed up her inner thigh, the smell of her arousal was intoxicating.  When his nose grazed over her, he groaned. Bless her for not wearing panties.  Bless her. 

He licked a tentative stripe up her slit, spreading her thighs a little more.  She opened for him beautifully.  His tongue prodded her slickness before he moved up where she wanted him.  He lapped at her clit lightly, feeling her thighs tense around his head.  He slid his hands up her legs, squeezing reassuringly before latching onto her clit and sucking. 

She was making tiny whimpering sounds, probably trying to look nonchalant as he ate her out beneath her ball gown. 

He wished he could see her like he had the first time. 

She'd been loud.  Spread out on his bed and gripping his sheets as she moaned his name.  Her hips bucking up towards his face as he slowly teased her clit.  Her cheeks flushing pink as she rolled her head from side to side.  Crying out and panting when she came.  Thanking him over and over and over when he'd finished.  Thanking him enough for him to blush, because it honestly wasn't all that much work.  And even if it was, he was one of the lucky bastards who'd found their true passion in life.  He'd do this daily.  Multiple times a day if she wanted. 

Daily wasn't really something they could feasibly achieve right now, but he managed to do it every time they could be alone together. 

She tensed almost painfully around his head as he felt her muscles contract and flutter.  Her hips bucked a tiny bit towards his face and he kept up the pace he was going until she tried to scoot away from him, her hand gripping the back of his head.   He slowed down, pressing a kiss to each thigh before extracting himself from under her dress.  He almost got tangled in the tulle, but he righted himself and her skirt easily enough. 

He sat back down in his seat, licked his lips and wiped his brow, sweaty from being under her dress with all her…body heat.    

He turned, catching her eye and grinning.  Because she looked completely and utterly satisfied.   

"I was just going to tease you in your pants..." she muttered, crossing her legs at the ankles again under her set and primly folding her hands on her lap. 

“Oh, okay.  That is why you went commando?” 

“No…that was just for you…” 

“Best present ever…”

She turned, her eyes catching and holding his gaze.  “I love you, Pietro.” 

He swallowed in earnest, “I love you.” 

She reached for his hand, squeezing.  “We’ll…we’ll figure this out, okay?  This whole…thing with us.” 

“We don’t have to right now…” He squeezed back. 

The look that crossed her face worried him slightly.  She pressed her lips together.  “All the same.  We’ll figure out what we’re doing.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos? Please? :D :D :D


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Sorry. Please still love me, even though I'm horrible and keep you waiting for updates? 
> 
> Also, I ended this with a cliffie because I'm terrible. :/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to heyfrenchfreudiana for being an awesome beta. <3

"So what exactly are you saying?" Darcy asked, her gaze flitting back and forth between her father, her mother, and the Sitwells.  Her dad’s study felt HUGE all of the sudden.  It felt huge, or she felt small. 

And alone.

Her stomach clenched and she fought the wave of nausea at the probable outcome of this so-called “meeting.” 

They called it a meeting.  She called it an attack.  She’d been hoping it was something small.  Something infinitely better than what it turned out to be.  She was supposed to be in and out and on her way to Pietro’s.  She’d told him she might come by later on…and she was planning on making that ‘might’ a ‘would’.   

"What we're SAYING..." Dad cleared his throat nervously.  "What we're saying is--" 

Colin was the one who finally spoke up.  Putting words in her father’s mouth like he always did. "What the King and the Queen are TRYING to say, Princess...is that they no longer feel safe letting you gallivant around with Mr. Maximoff."  He said ‘Mister’ like he meant ‘that loser’. Loser, delinquent, poor person.  All synonymous in Colin’s vocabulary.  

"Because...because he used to protest when he was younger?!" she asked, still not really believing that this was happening to her.  "He was protesting that stupid luxury liner.  Him and about two thousand others.  And they had every right to."

All of this fuss was over retrieved footage of Pietro at a protest rally. Darcy had no clue how the Sitwells had gotten ahold of it, but apparently that didn’t matter.  What mattered was, they had it and both Pietro AND Wanda had been there.  Poster board signs and all.  He’d been cute.  Baby-faced.  The tape was dated six years before, which put him at nineteen.

Everyone did things at nineteen.  Darcy had been smoking weed and practicing French kissing with a noble’s daughter.  But that didn’t make her a pothead or a lesbian. At the very most it made her an open-minded bisexual.  And where was the harm in that?   

"Yes, of course they have the right to protest..." her father said calmly. 

She folded her arms across her chest.  Less to make a statement than to literally hold herself together.  The pitch of her voice gave her away.  High and squeaky. "He had the right to protest, but for some reason, being an angry teenager makes him dangerous? Not dangerous then, but dangerous now?  Hell, I was an angry teenager. Are you sure it's safe for ME to be around you guys?" 

"Your Majesty..." Jasper interjected.  "Surely you can't be comparing a fit of teenage hormones to a potentially life threatening issue? Surely you see the cause for alarm here?" 

"I don't know, Jasper..." Darcy said pointedly.  "I certainly wished YOU dead on more than one occasion...In a fit of teenage hormones, of course." 

"And I'm pleased Your Grace saw fit to keep me alive..." Jasper continued without missing a beat. Darcy glared in his direction.       

"The truth of the matter is, Sweetheart...you cannot spend time with him anymore.  I know this must come as a blow...but we can't be too careful.  You are next in line to the throne after all, Dear."  Her mother's voice was annoyingly soothing. 

"The truth of the matter is, MOTHER...you can't tell me what to do.  I'm twenty-five years old.  I can see whoever I want.  You can't forbid me to do anything anymore."

They couldn’t.  They just couldn’t.  And if they tried to, well…she’d just leave. She realized she was being a little snot right now, but they were sort of due a snotty daughter.  She’d let them off the hook for a LOT of things.  There was no way she was giving this up without some kind of fight.   

"We can, actually.  If we see it as a potential threat.  And we do..." her father said sharply.  The volume of his voice increasing just slightly.  A warning. 

She took a deep breath, trying to push down the panicked feeling that was starting to take over. That cornered-animal feel. "Pietro's not a threat..." she insisted.  "You met him.  You talked to him.  He's harmless..." 

“Yes,” Dad admitted. “He was perfectly friendly.  As one would expect someone to be when they are an invited guest." 

She frowned. "What's THAT supposed to mean?" 

"It means that he'd have been a fool to do ANYTHING suspicious in front of so many people…" Colin filled in. 

Her heart beat fast in her chest as blood rushed in her ears.  "He didn't _do_ anything suspicious because he's _not_ suspicious." 

"Dear, I just think there are so many _better_ options for companions..." her mother interjected.  Again with the calm tone.  It made Darcy want to shriek. 

"He isn't a companion.  He's my boyfriend," she bit out. 

"Not anymore..." her father said tersely, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

She was fairly certain that her heartbeat was both visible and audible to everyone in the room.  She felt cold and hot at the same time. She dug her nails into her sides, still trying to maintain the façade of being completely together. If she gave an inch, opened a crack, it’d be over before she knew it. "I'll leave..." she blurted, eying the four of them warily.  "I will.  I'll remove myself from the line to the throne." 

"You do that and you'll be cut off from us forever..." her father said dully. Dully, but his eyes looked strange.  Shiny. Wet.  Darcy could hardly believe the words were coming from HIM.  From her beloved father.  Who had once told her that he'd NEVER force her to do anything she didn't want to do. 

And yet, here he was...doing just that. 

"What?" she blinked back tears, looking in disbelief between the four other people.  Looking for some comfort, some reassurance.  She pinched the side of her thigh hard.  Maybe it was all a bad dream...

No such luck. 

"If you continue to see him...see Pietro...we'll be forced to withdraw our support.  Emotional...familial...and financial…" he elaborated.  “We cannot take any chances, Darcy.”   

Her mouth fell open. “You’d do that to me?”  

"You would have to find your own way.  Work for a living.  And...you haven't exactly spent any time training for any blue collar positions..." He continued on like he hadn’t heard her.  Or like he was choosing not to. 

"I love Pietro..." she lowered her eyebrows, blinking back tears and glaring angrily at everyone in the room.  "I LOVE him." 

"I'm sorry..." Dad said quietly, swallowing.  "This is...this is how it is, Darcy.  We won't have him in a position to harm or influence anyone in line for the crown." 

"Fuck.  The crown," she spat angrily. 

"Darcy..." Mom stood, preparing to walk over to her. 

"Stay away from me...I don’t want…ANYTHING to do with…ANY of you…"  She was well aware of how she looked.  Wild-eyed and on the verge of breaking down.  She had to get out.  Get out of here.  Out of the palace.  Just out.  There was one place she wanted to be and that was in his arms. Watching bad TV or eating mac and cheese in his kitchen in their socks.  It was her happy place.  Couldn’t they see what they were doing?  Didn’t they understand?  

"Please try to see this from our position..." her father pleaded with her. 

"Oh...I see it perfectly..." she nodded, wiping her eyes angrily.  "I see how you're going to 'protect' me from Pietro, when what you SHOULD have been doing is protecting me from those two motherf--" 

"OUT...You are dismissed, Darcy," her father commanded.

She blinked.  "What?"

Out of all the things she’d said and THAT was what made him ask her to leave?  Calling the Sitwells a couple of conniving motherfuckers?  Because that’s what they were.  If he was really so far up their asses that he was willing to abandon all his principles…well…maybe this was for the best.  As hard as that was to think about.  She sniffed angrily.   

"You are dismissed.  I'll see you at breakfast.  Sleep on this.  We’ll talk in the morning." 

With a final look at her parents, possibly the last, she turned on her heel and left, slamming the door as loudly behind her as she possibly could. 

* * *

 

Katherine bit her lip, casting a worried glance over at her husband.  She was worried for him.  For their daughter.  For herself.  For…everything. 

He stared blankly at the door Darcy had just stormed out.  He turned toward the Sitwells.  "Leave us." 

Colin and Jasper bowed hastily, saying their farewells and good nights as they left the study.  They both waited until the advisors were gone, assuredly gone, before speaking.  Katherine let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.  The tension in her shoulders twinged as she let them roll back, relaxing her lower back. 

"Mark..."  she whispered, reaching out to comfort him.  She knew this was going to be hard, but she had no idea just how hard it was.  How upset Darcy would be.  She hadn’t known Darcy loved Pietro.  Well…she’d guessed at Pietro’s feelings. He’d been wearing them on his sleeve for the whole world to see.  The stars in his eyes when he looked at her… But…she hadn’t known for certain Darcy’s feelings until just now.  Her heart sank for them.  The poor dears.  That made this so much more complicated.  

"I did what I said I'd never do..." he muttered, shaking his head.  He looked so disappointed in himself.    Tired.  Exhausted.  This had truly gotten completely out of hand.  And so quickly, too. 

"It's only temporary..." she rubbed his arm.  “Just for a little while.  A few days.”  She hoped that was true.    

He shook his head.  "I don't like it.  Pietro…he’s a nice... a nice guy.  He's nice.  Good to her. Head over heels in love with her, but he’s…he’s good for her." 

"It's only temporary..." Katherine repeated, gripping his hand reassuringly.  "She'll understand once she knows..." 

"We have to tell her.  I don't care what they say.  She needs to know." 

He was right.  Of course he was right.  She just hoped it wasn’t too late to fix this.  "I'll call Natasha." 

He nodded.  "Yes.  And hurry.  If I know my daughter, she's packing her bags right now." 

Katherine smiled.  "She's like you, you know?" 

"No.  She's smarter than I am.  She's never trusted a Sitwell."

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close.  "Darcy will be a great leader." 

"Darcy…Darcy will be her own person," he said definitively.  “If that person is a leader, then…that’s what she’ll be. And if not, well…” He leaned back in his seat, releasing her hand.  “She won’t be.  And that’s fine too.”    

Katherine hoped they caught her in time. 

* * *

 

Jasper sighed heavily as they made their way down the shifting halls and corridors to the staff apartments. The opulent carpet changed patterns from a busy purple and green to a more muted plum berber.  The apartments were really nothing to scoff at.  Not nearly as nice as the rest of the palace, but still better than most you could find for rent downtown.

The blood was still rushing madly in his head, giving him one hell of a tension headache.  Pulsing in the back of his mind was the niggling thought of what if the Princess leaves?  This all hinges on her NOT leaving.  How in the world are we going to pull this off now?  "Nice going, Father...if you play your cards right, we'll both be out of a job before the week's out…" he snapped, yanking his key card out of his pocket and swiping it in the door. He was going to pour a nice tumbler-full of scotch and gulp it down quick. 

"Everything is going according to plan," Colin assured him calmly.  Always so calm.  Always.  Why couldn’t he panic for once?  This was panic worthy.  If anything that had happened was panic-worthy, this was.   

"You keep saying that.  What plan?  Are you ever planning on sharing the whole thing with me? Since it supposedly INVOLVES me?"  He kicked off his shoes as his father followed him into his apartment.  Watching him uncap the scotch and pour it sloppily into a glass.  Jasper took a large swallow of the liquor, fighting back a choke at the burn in his throat. 

Colin arched an eyebrow knowingly.  "It's better if you don't know everything yet." 

Jasper rolled his eyes.  "Can I know the next step at least? Or are you planning to keep me in the dark?" 

"Of course.  Call Romanov.  Tell her to keep the Princess from leaving the castle." 

He snorted.  "I'm sure the Princess is already gone.  Already halfway downtown.  He’s probably moving her into his bedroom as we speak.  She’s gone and we can’t force her to come back."  He took another big sip of the scotch.  “That was a stupid move, telling the King to revoke his support.  Stupid, stupid.  You know she doesn’t care about money.  I know it’s difficult to believe, but not everyone thinks they need it.”   

Colin chuckled.  "Jasper, you’ve always been so fatalistic.  No, she's not gone yet.  She’s packing.  If I know anything, I know royalty.  And I know that she's packing as many things as she can to pawn off for enough money to float on for a while. We advised the King to call her bluff and I still think it was a good call.  If nothing else, it’s bought us a little time.  Wiggle room. She might not care about money, but she’s not stupid. And she’s not selfish.  She won’t force that boy to support her.”  Colin walked over to join him, pulling out the ingredients for a gin and tonic.   “All we have to do is tell Romanov not to let her leave the palace.  In fact, tell her to bring the Princess here to speak with us.  Just to...lay down the law, so to speak.  Explain how we have her best interests at heart.  How we won't tell Mommy and Daddy what the precious Princess was up to.  Stealing things that she had no right to steal.  All in order to sell them and live downtown in squalor with a penniless bike messenger."

"He's not penniless. He’s close, but not penniless." 

"Well...he might as well be.  We'll also explain how we'll keep her missteps to ourselves and expect nothing in return but gratitude.  Her majesty's world famous gracious nature that will ensure that she meets with Prince Loki tomorrow morning." 

"We haven't even spoken to Prince Loki yet.  There's a meeting now? What, do you have dirt on him too?" 

Colin waved his hand with a flourish before taking a sip of his drink.  "Logistics.  Everything will work out and by this time next month, you'll be sitting pretty with a foot in each camp." 

Jasper had to admit.  His father’s flair for the grandiose never failed to rouse his spirits.  He took the last swallow of scotch from the glass.  "Stanicily AND Asgard," he said quietly.  Reverently.  

"Precisely." 

* * *

 

Darcy hoisted her overnight bag onto her shoulder, dragging her suitcase behind her as she practically ran for the garage.  Not ran.  Just walked very, very, VERY quickly.  She didn’t really want to run into anyone and give them a chance to try to convince her to stay.  As she reached the door to the garage, she checked over her shoulder, dropping the suitcase for a moment to reach in her pocket for her car keys.  She opened the door, fumbling with them as she made her way to the car parked in the rear. 

Tears were clouding her eyes as she popped the trunk and tossed in both her bags.    She hated this.  Hated it.  She hated leaving her parents.  And she hated going to Pietro with all these problems.  She was homeless, practically penniless.  He didn’t ask for this hassle.  Sure, he’d welcome her with open arms.  Hold her while she cried.  But she hated going to him all open and raw like this.  It wasn't how she'd expected this evening to go at all.  Getting practically disowned by her parents who just yesterday had been loving and happy with her.  She had emotional whiplash and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.  

But being without Pietro wasn't an option for her.  And so, living here wasn't an option anymore either. 

She just hoped the stuff she'd brought along could fetch a high enough price to keep her afloat for a while.  Just until she figured out something...anything she was qualified to do.   Thinking about that made her feel sick.  She had a useless double degree in art history and political science.  There was no way she could get into any kind of politics with her background, so that left art history.  She bit her lip to stop it from trembling.  She couldn’t break down here.  Not alone and not still in the palace.  She’d never be able to pull it together long enough to leave.  She had to get down the driveway.  Up the road leading to the palace.  Make about four or five turns and park in the garage across from Pietro’s apartment building.  She could call him from there.  And then he’d be with her and they could figure this out. 

She’d find something to do, even if it was waiting tables. 

She wrinkled her nose.  God, she’d hate doing that.  But she would.  If she had to.  

Her hands shook as she closed the trunk. She walked around to the driver's side and opened the door.  She sat down, pulling the belt across her lap and jamming the keys blindly into the ignition. 

"You know...you shouldn't drive when you're upset..." 

Darcy yelped and turned toward the voice.  Calming somewhat when she saw it was just Natasha. 

"Ohhhh, myyyyy goddd..." she pressed her hand to her chest, panting.  "You scared the bejezus out of me, Nat." 

Her bodyguard smirked.  "Sorry.  I meant to say something sooner, but...I didn't know when would be a good time. I figured probably before you actually started running away." 

Darcy pressed her lips together.  "So...you heard what happened?" 

Natasha nodded.  "Yep.  Heard.  From a couple of sources, actually..."

"Well.  I mean.  I'm leaving.  I...I love him, Nat.  Pietro…”  Darcy’s voice wavered on the syllables.  “You understand, right?  I know this means you'll probably lose your job and I'm really sorry about that..."  she reached over to squeeze her arm. 

Natasha patted her hand.  "It's okay, Darce.  I promise.” 

“Oh good…”  Darcy went to withdraw her hand, but Natasha was suddenly holding it.  Tightly.  Darcy panicked on instinct and tried to yank it away. 

“I won't lose my job.  Because you're not going anywhere. Sorry.  Your Highness."  Natasha bowed her head slightly. 

Darcy sniffed loudly as big fat tears started to fall, wetting her cheeks as she struggled with her bodyguard, knowing full well it wasn’t by strength that she’d escape the grasp of Natasha Romanov.  "Yes.  I am.  I'm leaving.  And I'm going to Pietro's and I won't be coming back.  Ever.  Mom and Dad said I'd be cut off if I left.  So..." 

Natasha sighed heavily.  "Look, Darce.  Whatever happens in the next few minutes.  Please know that I'm only doing this because I care about you." 

"What?" 

She gripped her hand and reached across, pulling the keys out of the ignition.  She opened the passenger side door and got out, pulling Darcy out with her, who was forced to scramble over the center console and the seat to avoid being flat out dragged back into the garage. 

"NO..." she struggled in vain against Natasha's grip, finally planting her feet and forcing her to yank her along.  Darcy smacked at her, tugged ineffectively at the hand in her grasp.  "NO, NO, NO...NATASHA!" 

Natasha sighed, hefted on her grip and pulled her harder.  Darcy's shoes slid on the polished floors, finally gaining some traction as Natasha pulled her down the carpeted hall towards the east wing.  Where the 24 hour staff resided.  The apartments.  She dug her heels into the lush carpet.   Natasha sighed and knelt, scooping Darcy up and over her shoulder in a fireman carry like she weighed absolutely nothing, shushing her as she opened a door, turning to the side to fit through the door.  Darcy mentally kicked herself for not yelling one single time during the whole  journey from the garage to here.  She could have yelled.  Woken up some of the other staff.      

“You can’t DO this.  It’s unlawful imprisonment!  I’m a consenting adult.  I can come and go when I want.”  She was really just saying it to keep herself calm.  Natasha wasn’t listening.  Or it didn’t look like she was.  “Natasha, I don’t want to be here…” She burst into tears and she felt the other woman sigh as she bent down, depositing her on a couch in the middle of someone’s living room.  

"Just...relax and trust me, okay?" Natasha muttered under her breath.  Darcy was out of breath from her struggle and she tried hard to catch her meaning, but when the door opened across the room and none other than Colin Sitwell strolled out, she had a hard time piecing things together.  But from what she could see, Natasha was working for them.  For the Sitwells.  Probably had been the whole time she’d been working here.  Maybe they had a hand in the hiring process.  Now that Darcy thought about it, it seemed completely feasible.  Feasible, but still completely heartbreaking. 

"Natasha..." she turned to stare at her supposed friend.  Someone who had played the part very well up until recently.  The complete and utter betrayal of what was happening washed over her like an acid bath.  Acrid and burning.  She had to get out of here, she had to.  

Colin spoke first, grinning like the snake he was. "Princess...my apologies for this abrupt change to your plans..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides* 
> 
> Also, please let me know if you have any questions. I've gone over this a couple of times, but I'm also in my own head and I know what's going to happen, so if any of this looks confusing, please feel free to ask me to clarify. <3


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which...I hope I've answered some questions pertaining to the cliffie in the last chapter. 
> 
> There's a warning for some angst in this chapter. Because. Angst happens in this chapter. *sad face* 
> 
> But, I'm hoping you'll all bear with me, because as much as I love creating angst, I also love solving it. And I'm not going to leave Pietro hanging for too long. I promise.
> 
> Special thanks to heyfrenchfreudiana for being an awesome beta and looking over this the second I sent it to her. <3
> 
> The big chunks of italics at the beginning are flashbacks. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
> Look at the awesome coverart [romanoffsbite](http://romanoffsbite.tumblr.com/post/146381280384/i-know-my-happy-ending-dresupi-she-was-a) made for me!!!! Isn't it amazing? :D :D :D (I'm so not worthy, but I love it SO MUCH)

Darcy stared incredulously at Natasha. Or…TRIED to stare incredulously at Natasha.  It was dark in the linen closet she’d pulled her into.  Darcy’s head was spinning with all the fucking back and forth.  It was enough to give her whiplash.  Natasha was her friend…then she worked for the Sitwells…then she was her friend again?  "Are you fucking KIDDING me right now?  You expect me to believe YOU?"  

Natasha reached over, awkwardly squeezing her arm. "Darcy, look...I know it sounds crazy, but please...hear me out..." 

_Colin wasn't exactly Darcy's favorite person.  Scratch that.  Colin was Darcy's LEAST favorite person.  But giving him a run for his money at that precise moment were Jasper and surprisingly, Natasha. This was the second time that night that Darcy had been on the receiving end of the "I know what's good for you, so sit down and shut up" Sitwell-patented-death-glare._

_"Stealing from the King and the Queen?"  Colin chuckled. "My dear Princess, what are we going to do with you?  First, you attempt to run away to be with a known royal agitator--"_

_"Fuck you, he's not--"_

_"Uh-uh..." Colin sucked his teeth condescendingly.  "No, I think you got your turn to talk earlier, my dear.  Now, you will listen.  I am NOT your father and I have no qualms about hurting your precious feelings. I'm the royal advisor and you will heed my advice if you know what's good for you."_

_Darcy felt her chin wobbling and she clenched her hands on her lap.  Refusing to look at Natasha, AND refusing to look away from Colin.  She'd stare the bastard right in the face_.

"Darcy.  I KNOW a lot's happened tonight and I KNOW I didn't exactly choose the best way to tell you this..."  Natasha's hands felt smooth on hers.  Cool and calming.  But Darcy wasn't having any of it. No sir.  Not after the fucking night she’d had.  Tears gathered in her eyes as she spun on her bodyguard, pointing her shaking finger in her face.   

"Really?  KIDNAPPING ME wasn't the best way to tell me?  Taking me to the Sitwells?  Who practically forbade me to ever see Pietro again?  Who fucking TOLD me I had to--"  

"Darcy...DARCY.  You don't have to do any of it.  Okay?  You don't..."

_"Prince Loki is a better choice for you, Princess.  I'm sure of it.  I've never steered your father wrong before, and Jasper has never steered you wrong either."_

_She folded her arms over her chest.  "Ginormous. Luxury. Cruise. Liner."_

_Colin made a face.  A face that kind of said, "Haha, you little scamp/I want to rip your royal face off." Dude had a LOT of faces that said a lot of things.  Used them a lot in lieu of actually speaking."Your Majesty, you must admit that Prince Loki wouldn't be the worst choice in a husband."_

_"'Wouldn't be the worst' isn't really what I'm looking for in my happily ever after,"  she quipped.  "He's nice enough, but I love Pietro.  And I'm not marrying anyone who isn't Pietro."_

_"Maximoff is out of the question.  He's an unknown variable.  I can't...I won't condone the match.  Your father has already told you his thoughts.  Do you really want to give up everything you've ever had, everything you've ever known, to be with a bike courier?"_

_She didn’t pause.  Didn’t falter.  Not even for a beat. "Yes.  In a heartbeat.  Let me GO..."_

_Colin shook his head.  "You aren't in your right mind, Your Grace. It's late.  You do not have the wherewithal to comprehend the outcome of your actions."_

_The wherewithal…where did he fucking get off…did he just say she was too tired to know who she wanted to marry?_

_She snapped immediately, "And what outcome is that?  Life isn't just about money.  I'll leave the stuff I packed.  I'll leave and walk to his apartment, if that's what you want.  I'll mail back the clothes I'm wearing, I don't care."_

_Colin leaned over into her space, speaking very quietly.  "If you leave to go to him tonight?  I will have him arrested.  I will fabricate whatever I need to fabricate to have him jailed.  Imprisoned.  I'll ship you off to a home somewhere.  Out of the public eye.  You wouldn't be the first royal to rule by proxy."_  

"You won't have to do anything. This will all be over in a few short weeks.  All you have to do is play along for now.  Go through with the wedding plans.  We just need to catch them meddling in enough foreign affairs for the council to take action."

A sting.  That's what this was. The Council had involved two royal families in a sting to catch the Sitwells.  That's what Natasha was insisting, anyway.  That the Asgardian royals and the Stanicilian Royals were working together to stop what might very well be the largest political coup in BOTH countries’ histories.    

Darcy exhaled raggedly.  Her throat was sore, her eyes and face just HURT from all the tears she’d shed in the past 24 hours. "What is keeping them from just...arresting Pietro anyway?  Do you think he's going to just...LET me get married to someone else without trying to see me?"  

Natasha bit her lip, reaching over to squeeze Darcy's hands.  "We're planning on it, actually.  And when he does, you have to send him away.  Permanently. At least...make him think it's permanent.  It’s how he’ll be the safest.  If Colin and Jasper SEE you hurt him…if there’s something of a semi-public break up…that’s how we have to keep him safe."

Darcy's heart sank.  There was no way she could ever convincingly tell him she didn’t love him.  She just COULDN’T.  "Can't you talk to him?  Tell him what's going on?  What if he does something stupid?  What if he tries to--"  

Natasha shook her head.  "No one else can know.  We were trying not to involve you, but your parents insisted around the same time that I got wind of what they were planning for Pietro, so we had to tell you.”    

"So send us out of the country. Anything but this."  

"Darcy...this is to keep HIM safe.  If he gets thrown into a government prison…I’m not sure how we could even go about getting him out.  There’s only so much pull your Dad would have in that situation.  Especially since he’d have to sign for him to go in.  We could get him out, but it would take…time.  And if we can just keep him out altogether…that’s what’s going to be safest for him."

Tears sprang to her eyes.  "But what about...he’s…I love him, Natasha.  And he loves me…and I don’t want to hurt him."  

"He's not alone, Darcy.  He has his sister. And it'll only be for two weeks…tops."  

Darcy swallowed the lump in her throat long enough to ask the question that had been plaguing her the entire time she’d known of this plot. "What if he won't forgive me?" Her voice was no more than a whisper.   

Natasha sighed.  "He'll forgive you, Darcy."  

"But what if he doesn't?  What if I lose him?"  

"He'll forgive you.  If he doesn't, he wasn't the one for you.  But he'll forgive you."  

Darcy was silent for a long moment before nodding, two big fat tears rolling down her cheeks.  "Okay...I'll do it."  

Natasha nodded once.  "The people of Stanicily will revere you. This is a major coup we’re shutting down.  Years of bribery and espionage."  

She shrugged, "Natasha, is it bad that I don't care about that?  I don't want to be revered, I just want the Sitwells to go away...and I want...I want Pietro to be safe."   _And with me._

"He will be.  I promise."  

"And Natasha..."  

"Yes?"  

She sniffed, more tears rolling down her cheeks, "I want my mom..."  

"I'll go get her."  

* * *

 

Pietro woke up the next morning, the sun streaming in through the window. Across his still-made bed.  His phone was in his hand.  No missed calls, no messages.  

He sat up, cracked his neck, trying to stretch out the stiffness in his back.  

He swallowed back the disappointment that Darcy hadn't come over.  Hadn't even called.  But, he knew that it had always been a possibility.  She had a meeting with her parents.  With the advisers.  Probably about him.  

He couldn't help but think that her lack of calls, her absenteeism, the lack of contact in any way...were probably not good signs. His stomach felt sour and he felt off.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that something really bad was about to happen.    He gulped against the lump in his throat and pulled on a t-shirt, opening up his bedroom door and padding out into the living room.  Intending to go to the bathroom.  Shower.  Shave.  Get ready for work.  Maybe she’d call while he did one of those things.  

Clint and Wanda were watching T.V.  The news, apparently.  He recognized the ticker-tape at the bottom.  The blonde anchorwoman.  Gwen Stacy, Channel 5 Mornings with Gwen and M.J.  

They both glanced up, looking guilty.  Like they were doing something they shouldn't be.  

He snorted at their expression, rubbing his eyes.  "What?  Were you groping on the couch again or something?  Sorry to interrupt, but this is a shared space...I live here too…"  

"Pietro..." Wanda stood up, crossing over to hug him.  

"What?" he let his arms close around her, patting her shoulder.  "What's the matter, _Brouchek_?  Did something happ--"  

His eyes focused on the banner on the screen.  A ROYAL WEDDING.  He'd never really experienced the feeling of 'blood running cold' before.  But he experienced it then.  A cold, numb feeling all over as he listened to Gwen describe the 'whirlwind romance' of Prince Loki and Princess Darcy.  

A picture flashed up on the screen.  A picture of the two of them.  Smiling into the camera.  Taken recently, it looked like.  Probably this morning, to accompany the press release.  

"I need to..." he trailed off, pushing Wanda off him.  "I need to..."  

"Pietro...Pietro...please...please don't shut me out..."  she reached for him again.  He shrugged her off.  

"I need to take a shower.  I have work...I have to go to work," he babbled, grasping for any excuse to leave the room.  Leave behind two people who looked at him with pity.  Fuck it, he didn’t need pity.  This…this was a bad dream.  It wasn’t happening.  Not really…  

"Pietro..."  Wanda called after him, but he was already in the bathroom.  Already staring at his wide-eyed expression in the mirror.  He half-stumbled over to the shower, turning on the water as hot as it would go and stripping off his clothes.   _Not happening, this is NOT happening…_

He hissed when the water hit his back, the physical pain taking his mind off the turmoil in his mind, but dragging him kicking and fighting back to reality.  If he was in pain, this wasn’t a dream.  It was happening.  Happened.  He reached down to adjust the water temperature, still keeping it a little hotter than he normally kept it.  Just to take the edge off.  To keep him from noticing the hot tears running down his cheeks. The tears that were getting washed down the drain with every shred of happiness he'd collected for himself over the past few months.  

He cursed his own stupidity.  He'd known this was coming.  He'd known it.  But he'd let himself fall too deep into the fantasy.  He'd fallen too far with her and now...NOW he had to climb back up alone.

And he wasn't sure he was going to be able to do that.  It was so far and he was just so fucking tired…

His shower took longer than normal.  He spent most of it in a heap on the tiled floor.  His knees pulled up to his chest while the water hit him dead in the face.  The steady rhythm of the streams of water gave him something constant.  If somewhat annoying.  

He pried himself up off the shower floor, sniffing loudly and turning off the water.  He'd been in here a long time.  The water was getting cool and Wanda had stopped beating on the door.   

Work wasn't happening today.  It just wasn't. He had a lot of sick days built up, might as well use one of them.  

Pietro pulled on the same clothes he'd taken off, slowly opening the door to see Clint gone, but Wanda still on the couch watching the news.  

She sat up, turning to look at him.  “Are you okay? You were so quiet, I was worried…”  

He rolled his eyes.  “I got dumped.  I’m not suicidal.”  His eyes wandered from his sister’s face to the T.V screen.  He could physically feel the energy draining out of him the more he looked at the screen.

"Want me to turn it off?" She dove for the remote on the opposite end of the couch.   

He shook his head.  "No. I'll just...I'll be in my room."  

"Pietro...please don't do this...talk to me, please."

"I don't want to talk right now."  

"You should, though.  You should."  

He rounded on her.  "What the FUCK is there to talk about, Wanda?  I knew this was going to happen.  YOU knew it was going to happen.  She's going to marry that fancy...Asgardian...FOP and I'm going to grow a beer gut and go prematurely bald.  And die alone.  This was always the plan..." he shrugged and gulped down the lump rising again in his throat.  He wasn't going to cry in front of his sister.  No.  He wasn't.  

“There is nothing to suggest you are going to go prematurely bald…our mother’s father had a head full of hair until the day he died…” Wanda said encouragingly.

He didn’t know whether to hug her or burst into tears.  He opted for neither.  "I need a beer."  

"It's nine a.m..." she protested.    

"It's NINE already?"  He shook his head rapidly and looked at the clock.  “No wonder I feel like shit still, I should already have three down…” he turned to walk into the kitchen.  “Can you text Clint and tell him to buy more beer before he comes over?”    

"Pietro..." Wanda groaned and hefted herself up to a sitting position again.  He shot her a look.  Nothing she said was going to change his mind.  If he was going to live out his destiny, he needed to get started on that beer gut. She sighed heavily, "Well...get me one too, while you're out there..."  

* * *

 

And he was three sheets to the wind by the time Clint came back from work.   Three sheets.  HA.  He was a whole fucking BOOK to the wind.

A whole fucking book to the wind, with Wanda sleeping against his side and watching the stupid gossip talk shows.  Looking at the same footage of Darcy walking into some department store.  Looking at footage of Loki walking into a different store.  Looking at the photo they'd released to the media that morning.    

He pointed at the screen, "THAT...look at her face...Clint, look!"  Clint sighed and crossed his arms, tilting his head as he looked at the screen.  Pietro paused it. He fucking LOVED DVR.  "Look at her eyes."    He'd been concentrating on it all day.  On Darcy's eyes.  The vacant coldness he saw there.  Not a real smile.  That wasn't a real smile.  If anything, she looked…puffy.  Like she’d been crying.  If she’d been fucking crying, he was going to murder someone.  

"That's not a real smile, Clint.  It's not real.  They're forcing her to do this, I know it.  I fucking KNOW it."  

Wanda groaned from his side, pushing up and off him.  "Enough with the smile.  The smile, the smile.  Fuck, Pietro..."  

"What?  I know her smile, okay?  I don't know much, I know what her real smucking file looks like…" he hiccupped loudly.  

Clint sighed, shaking his head.  "I dunno, Wanda...he could be right...she doesn’t look very happy. And I think Piet would know…"

Wanda swatted his arm and stood up on wobbly legs before sitting back down on the couch.  "Don't encourage him.  He needs to get over her."  

"Drinking beer and watching wedding coverage all day is supposed to do that?  Why are YOU drunk anyway, Sweet Pea?" Clint sat down beside her, pulling her into his lap.  Halfway into his lap anyway.  

“I figured…if I drank the beer…he couldn’t drink ALL the beer…” she explained, waving her hand a lot.  “Turns out, he can drink a lot of beer.  And so can I!”  she nodded, slapping Clint’s thigh.  “I’m like a…mother-fucking…” she trailed off, shrugging.  “Something.  I dunno.  I’m tired.”  

“You’re a good sister…” Clint rubbed her shoulder.  “Please, PLEASE don’t puke on me, though. Give me a heads up and I’ll carry you to the bathroom.  I’ll hold back your hair, but I’m not makin’ any promises about what will happen if you barf on my lap.”  

“Sokovians don’t vomit, that’s a waste of time…” Pietro drawled.  

Clint started to laugh, but he stopped when Wanda nodded, agreeing.  “It IS a waste of time…and please. A good sister?  I’m better than good.  I’m amazing.  I listened to his drunk rambling about ‘her fake smile’ all day…”    

"Bah..." Pietro flopped his leg, knocking over his tower of beer cans.  "Look, I might be drunk, but I know her smile.  I know what she looks like happy.  I MADE her happy, Wanda."  He blinked rapidly, taking another sip of the beer to push down the sadness welling up.  If he wasn't crying in front of his sister, he definitely wasn't crying in front of Clint.  

Clint shrugged, "I think he's right."  

Pietro pointed at Clint victoriously and glared down at Wanda. "See? I'm right.  Look at me. I'm FUCKING right.  She's unhappy. I should go see her tomorrow."  

"Pietro..." Wanda flopped back down on the couch.  "Please no..."  

"Look, I need to hear it from her LIPS.  Her lips. I want to hear that she's marrying him.  And that she's happy.  I need to hear it. If she’s happy and this is what she wants…I’ll drop it.  Because...I know she won't lie to me.  She won't."  

"What is the best case scenario here, Pietro?  Do you think she's going to leap into your arms? You're going to carry her off into the sunset? Away from the horrible Prince Loki?" 

He glared down at her.  "I know that's PROBABLY not going to happen..."  

She scoffed, "Okay, best case scenario is that she tells you she's unhappy?  Is that what you want for her?"  

"No...I just..." he sighed.  "I need closure. I need to know…" he settled back onto the couch.  “I just…I need to know…okay?”

Clint’s hand clapped lightly on his shoulder.  “That’s alright.  You need answers.  That’s okay, right, Wanda?”  

Wanda nodded, shifting over so she was leaning more on Pietro’s arm than Clint’s.  “Yes.  That’s perfectly fine…I support you.  Get your answers.  Get your closure…tomorrow, yes?”      

“Tomorrow,” he half smirked, taking the last sip of beer from the can in his hand.  Tomorrow, he’d have answers.  He wasn’t sure what kind, or even if he could believe them.  But…he’d have them.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four more chapters to go! 
> 
> I hope you're all still with me! :D


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which...Pietro goes to the palace. 
> 
> And we get to really meet Prince Loki. 
> 
> Darcy takes things into her own hands...because she's a strong confident Princess, who knows what's best for the people she loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to leftennant for beta reading this for me. She's kind of the resident expert on Loki, so...we're in good hands. :D
> 
> Three chapters left and the next chapter is a big one! In fact...the last three are ALL big ones. So YAY.

Pietro's heart was nearly thudding out of his chest when he arrived at the palace.  And by the time he finally got to see Darcy, it was even worse.  He was pretty sure that everyone in the kingdom could hear it.  In stereo.  Like someone was beating war drums or something.   

He tried to keep his breathing steady.  Tried not to worry too much.  Tried not to THINK too much.  He was sweating.  He felt sick.  Part of it was the hangover, and part of it was seeing her again,  post wedding announcement.  He still didn't know what to think.  He didn't know if he was mad or sad or what. 

He was mostly confused.

And more than anything, he wanted her to confirm his suspicions. He knew her.  He did.  He wasn’t delusional.  He knew what Darcy looked like happy.  He made her happy.  That wasn’t something someone could fake, was it? 

Some things weren’t fake at least.  He could still see her face when he closed his eyes.  Still feel the way she clenched around his fingers. Clenched and fluttered…rocking into his hand.  Still hear the way she moaned his name.  Could still taste her…feel the gentle tug of her fingers in his hair.  The breathy little “I love you” that always followed.  The feel of her hands as she reached for him…the slight desperation in her eyes as she looked from his face to what her hand was doing and back to him again.  “Does this feel good? I want to make you feel good, Pietro…” 

There was no way any of that was faked.  No fucking way.  He’d bet everything he owned on it, even though it wasn’t much.  He’d stake his life.  His freedom. 

No, she loved him.  She loved him, and this…there was something wrong with this.       

Of course, what was he going to do if she DID confirm his suspicions? 

Wanda was right.  He wasn't in any position to help her.  Or to do anything.  Every scenario he thought of would end up the same way.  There was nowhere they could go.  Nowhere to hide if they tried to run away. 

Pietro had honestly never felt so helpless in his life.  Helpless to watch as the woman he loved married another man. 

He was brought immediately to a reception area.  Shown to a chair. A chair that he was now sweating all over.  He wiped his hands down the front of his track pants.  He probably should have dressed up.  But he’d been so tired that morning.  He couldn't muster much more energy than it took to puke in the shower and then chug the water Clint thrust at him.  _ Maximoffs don't vomit _ .  He sneered inwardly at himself. 

Clint was outside.  In the car.  Drumming on the steering wheel and waiting for him to come back outside.  Probably waiting for him to come out all dejected and depressed. 

It was nice of him to take the day off, but Pietro didn't know if he even wanted to see anyone if what he was fifty percent sure was going to happen, happened.  Even if she was lying to him.  There wasn’t anything he could do about this situation.  He might just want to fall into a hole and never reemerge. 

He cleared his throat for what felt like the millionth time.  It felt raw, scratchy.  Probably again, from the hangover.  It hadn't been his smartest move...yesterday.  Just yesterday in general was an all-around stupid decision. 

And the longer he waited here, the more he was beginning to think that today was following in yesterday's footsteps. 

The chair he was in was likely to have a sweat print in it when he got up. 

He was pondering the possibility of quietly puking in the trashcan in the corner, and if it would be considered poor decorum or not, when the doors in front of him opened. 

He held his breath as Darcy entered the room, flanked by Jasper and Natasha. 

Pietro jumped up, pushing his hair out of his face and nearly breaking down right then, because fuck if she didn't look like an angel.  He longed to feel her hands on him.  Palms on his face.  He wanted her to cradle his head in her lap and tell him it was all a misunderstanding. that everything would be okay.  That she loved him and he loved her and that was all they needed.  That they’d figure everything else out later.  That all they needed to do was to love each other.    

"Pietro..." she began, looking down at her hands clasped in front of her. 

That…wasn’t a good sign.  Most likely.  His heart thudded louder.  His blood rush in his ears, a dull roar.  It was almost hard to hear anything else. "Darcy...?" he ventured.    

She closed her eyes for a moment and opened them again, focusing on his.  "Pietro...you have to leave..."

The roar was deafening.  His stomach rolled.  He couldn’t leave.  Not yet.   _ No Darcy, please…please not yet. _

"Darcy, please...” his voice sounded booming, like he was yelling.  But he could tell he wasn’t.  Not really.  “Please…tell me what's going on...please...are you marrying him?  Do you WANT to marry him?  Darcy--" He hated that there were other people here.  Like he was the villain.  Like she needed protection from him.  He could tell by looking at her that something was wrong.  By the way she was standing.  The way she was clasping her hands.  The tears gathering in her eyes. 

He wanted to reach for her.  Touch her.  Fold her up in his arms and never let go.  Protect her from whatever was happening here. 

But he didn’t.  In fact, it was her who reached for him first.    

She reached for his hands, clasping them tightly in hers.  He felt something small and square being pressed into his left hand. A folded up piece of paper. His heart leapt into his throat as he realized what was going on. She squeezed his hand and her eyes widened infinitesimally.

He understood.  Don’t draw attention.  Please be cool about this.  This paper explains everything.

He gulped, trying not to react. Or to at least not react like she had just thrown him a lifeline right as he was about to drown.  Not to gulp in the air now.  Wait until no one was looking.  Play dead.  Be a corpse in the water.  Breathe later.       

"Pietro.  You have to leave.  I had fun with you, but it's over now.  I'm marrying Prince Loki.  He's a better match for me…"  her tone was convincing, but she was still holding his hands. The edges of the folded up paper cut into his palm.     

His senses cleared a little.  Just a little.  Enough for him to assess the situation.  He could read between the lines better now.  He could read her panicked expression and know that she was scared.  Scared for him.

But why, he didn't know.  He had literally nothing to lose.  He had to hope the piece of paper she was pressing painfully into his hand would have the answers. 

"He's not.  He's not a better match for you..." he argued, knowing full well that it would look fishy if he didn't put up some kind of a fight.  "He won't love you like I love you!"  He gripped at her hands, trying to get a better hold on the paper so it wouldn’t fall to the floor when she let go of him.   

"Love..." Darcy said calmly, although her voice was wavering.  "Is for children."  She released his hands and he jammed one hand in his pocket, safely depositing the folded up paper there. The irony of what she just said versus the fact that she’d just basically passed him a note did not escape him.

Pietro covered his face with the other, trying to look contrite. And trying harder not to just grab her and make a run for it.  Because all of this felt strange to him.  So strange.  He hadn’t talked to her in two days.  And now this was the only conversation he was going to get with her.  For the foreseeable future. 

_ Or ever…  _ the pesky voice in the back of his mind reminded him.  The note could be a farewell.  An “I love you, but this is bigger than both of us” farewell note. 

He resolved right then and there that no matter what this note said.  This wasn’t the last time he was going to talk to her.           

He watched her leave.  He made brief eye contact with both Natasha AND Jasper.  Natasha's face was unreadable.  But Jasper's...Jasper's made him want to fly across the room and force feed him a knuckle sandwich.  He arched a brow, a thoroughly  _ amused _  expression on his face.  Pietro REALLY wanted to deck him.  If he hadn't been hungover and practically certain that he'd be arrested as a result, he might have. 

He settled for a dirty look.  At both of them before wiping his runny nose on his arm and turning to leave.  He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying.  But he was now.  And that was possibly a good thing. Looked good.  Like her goodbye had worked.  Like he didn’t have an explanation there in his pocket.  Waiting to be read.  And reread. 

He left the room, not with AS much dignity as he could muster, but with an appropriate amount of dignity for the situation.  Because, if he was being honest…tears aside, he was feeling better than he had in two days.  He wanted to ride this feeling, because he felt like the note could make or break him. 

Likely break him.     

The note was burning a hole in his pocket.  His brain was swarming with questions.  But he tried to concentrate on the sound of his feet on the tile entry way.  The burst of fresh air as he exited the palace.  The scrape of his feet on the gravel driveway as he made his way to Clint’s car. 

He tried not to run out to the car, tried to look thoroughly and sufficiently dejected and not at all hopeful for any part of his future.  Near or distant. 

Clint had it idling.  He stopped drumming on the wheel long enough to reach over to unlock the door.  Pietro fell into the seat, his head in his hands.  His temples throbbed and he had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.  Or crying.  He wasn’t sure.  His emotions were all over the place right now. 

He was holding a note in his pocket that was either his salvation or his damnation.  He was in Schrodinger’s relationship right now and it fucking sucked. 

The only relief was the square of paper in his pocket, but he was scared…paranoid to look at it anywhere but in the safety of his own home. 

To Clint's credit, he was quiet.  Silent.  Didn't push him for information and didn't try to make him talk either.  Just patted his back twice and muttered “Sorry, dude…” under his breath. 

Pietro kept his head in his hands until Clint slowed down.  He looked up to see people walking in front of the car.  A dad with a couple of kids in tow.  An old woman walking her dog.  They were at one of the Main Street intersections. 

It had gone far enough.  He couldn't take it anymore.  He fished the note out of his pocket. 

"What's that?"  Clint asked, frowning and looking back and forth between Pietro and the traffic light.    

"A note from Darcy," Pietro answered, unfolding it as quickly as he could without tearing it. 

“A what? She wrote you a note?”  Clint’s questions faded away as he finally got it unfolded, he flattened it against his thigh before pulling it up to read. 

Her script was neat.  Not that he'd expected anything different. 

> _ P, _
> 
> _ I love you.  I will only ever love you. [underlined three times].  I'm not marrying L.  I promise you, I'm not.  You have to believe and please don't pay attention to anything you hear.  Trust me on this.  There is a thing going down and I'm involved.  I had to break up with you for your own safety.  Please PLEASE don't come back to the palace.  I will come find you when it's all over.  I love you and I'll see you SOON.  _
> 
> _ Always and forever yours, _
> 
> _ D  _

His breath caught in his throat.  And he quickly went over the words on the page again, making sure he wasn't hallucinating. 

"What's it say?" Clint asked.  They were driving again and he sounded impatient.  Of course, Pietro HAD been pouring over the letter in silence for a good five or six minutes. 

"I was right..." Pietro said simply.  "I was right.  She doesn't love him.  She's not marrying him." 

"Well…that’s great, right?! Congratulations?"  Clint smacked the steering wheel.  “Should I turn around?  Should we go get her?” 

Pietro shook his head.  "No.  Not great.  Something's going on.  And she's not telling me what.  But, she's in danger, I think.  I can't let anything happen to her."  He bit his thumbnail, trying to think of a way he could possibly take this on.  He had to protect her.  He SHOULD, right?  She was attempting to do the same for him.  He couldn’t just sit idly by, turn the TV off and bury his head in the sand.  He couldn’t do nothing. 

"Is she asking for your help?" 

Pietro shook his head, "No.  She told me to lay low.  Stay away from the palace." 

"So you're going to..." 

"Rescue her from the palace." 

"Of course you are…"  Clint sighed.  “I’m in, I guess.”    

* * *

 

Darcy hugged her pillow close to her chest as fresh tears welled in her eyes.  Just when she thought she couldn't cry anymore, she did.  She couldn’t think about his face.  The way he’d looked at first.  Before she’d pressed the note into his hand.

God, he’d looked so sad.  So fragile.  She wanted to hug him, not send him away.  Take him back to her room and hug him.  Hole up inside until he stopped looking so sad and lonely and just…breakable.  She hoped the note raised his spirits.  She couldn’t bear to think of him like that. 

There was a gentle knock at the door and she inhaled deeply, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her pillowcase. 

She stood, walking over to the door and opening it to be greeted by none other than her betrothed.  The ever snarky, ever tall, Prince Loki. He didn't walk so much as glide into the room after she admitted him.  Looking around at the furnishings with as little distaste as he could muster.

She really didn’t have the energy for his special brand of mean sarcasm today.    

She sniffed again.  "Not to be rude, but why are you here?" 

Loki shrugged.  "Your advisor told me you'd spoken with Mr. Maximoff.  And that perhaps I should come down here and...console you." 

Darcy rolled her eyes and sat down in one of the chairs at the table by the window.  The table she had been taking her meals at ever since Natasha had dragged her kicking and screaming back into the palace.  She was supposed to be heartbroken after all.  And after seeing Pietro today, she pretty much was.  She’d never before wanted something so badly that she just couldn’t have. 

She waved her hand flippantly, indicating he should take a seat as well.  Misery loved company.  And Prince Loki wasn’t any more thrilled about this than she was.  The commiseration might do them some good.   He bowed slightly before doing just that. 

Darcy wished that she had a vice she could partake in.  Smoking.  Drinking.  Something.  As it was, all she had was the tea tray that had been brought in earlier. 

She prepared some tea for herself for something to do, passing the teapot to Loki when she was finished, as he'd taken it upon himself to begin to prepare some as well.    

She was stirring in her sugar when something nudged her hand. 

A flask. 

Loki raised his eyebrow, waggling the flask in her direction.  She took it. 

"What is it?" she asked, sniffing it.

"Brandy..." 

She wrinkled her nose and poured a couple of slugs worth into her cup.  Sipping off the top because she wasn't going to be able to lift it from the saucer without spilling it. 

It was bitterly sweet.  Whatever.  It was something to take the edge off. 

"So.  Loki..." she began.  She dragged her spoon over the edge of the cup and set it on the saucer. 

"Yes dear?" 

She winced, "Yeah...if you could just...NOT with that...we both know it's not gonna happen." 

He chuckled, taking a sip of his tea.  "It might.  If I radically changed my sexual orientation and perhaps grew a physique like your Pietro's overnight." 

"When you wish upon a star..." she raised her teacup in a mock toast. 

"Indeed…" he raised his as well.    

"Really though...it's not about his physique..." she said sadly, staring at the pattern on the tablecloth.  "It's everything..."  She sniffed again as a big tear rolled down her nose. 

Loki's hand on hers startled her. He patted her hand once, twice, three times. "There...there..." he said.  He was really REALLY bad at consoling.  Like terrible.  But at least he was trying.  That was something. "I...um.  I have one of my own, I'm afraid." 

"One of what?" 

"A man with a strong, rippling physique and everything else too." 

"Everything ripples?" she teased half-heartedly, wiping the tears from her cheeks.    

He arched an eyebrow. "Everything that matters."

“Who is it?  Have I met him? It’s one of your entourage, isn’t it?” She pressed her lips together.  “The blond guy?  Fandral, is it?” 

He smiled, a genuinely sweet smile as he looked down at his lap.  “Am I that transparent?” 

She shrugged.  “It’s not a bad trait in a man.  Transparency.” 

“I suppose…” he sighed, taking another sip of his tea.    

"Is that why you're agreeing to this?  Are they blackmailing you?"  She wouldn’t put it past the Sitwells to try and blackmail a prince who honestly, in this day and age, had nothing to hide.   

Loki snorted.  "They THINK they are.  Little do THEY know, it's the twenty-first century and no one in Asgard gives a flying bilgesnipe about where I stick my prick." 

"No one cares here either..." Darcy added. “I mean…if you have a prick, they don’t care.”     

Loki nodded, patting her hand awkwardly again before sitting back in his seat.  "No, I'm agreeing to this simply because my father asked me nicely..." 

"I'm sensing an 'and' here..." 

"AND...Asgardians (read: my father) don't take kindly to being manipulated.  He wants revenge.  It’s why he rejected the idea of you and Thor.  My brother is lovely and will make a wonderful king someday…but a master of espionage, he is not." 

Darcy grinned.  "There we go.  All that 'playing nice-nice' stuff wasn't gelling for me." She drained the rest of her teacup, placing it back on the saucer.  The warmth from the brandy was spreading nicely.  “And oh my…Thor would NOT be cool, would he?”       

Loki smirked.  "More tea, my dear?" 

She shook her head.  "No.  But...thanks for 'consoling' me.  I feel a little better." 

"It's only two weeks.  Really twelve days now…" he reminded her.  “Less than a fortnight.”    

"But who's keeping track?" Natasha asked as she entered the room.  "Certainly not you two love birds." 

Darcy frowned, sensing a slightly manic twinge in Natasha's usually smooth tone.  "Everything okay, Nat?" 

"No.  No, Darcy.  Everything's NOT okay.  What was in the letter you passed to Pietro?" 

She gulped.   _ Shit, shit.  Double shit.  Did Jasper see it?  Oh shit.  Oh no.  Oh no... _   She tried for nonchalance. "What letter?" 

Natasha pressed her lips together, inhaling and exhaling slowly.  "Your HIGHNESS...it is a matter of great importance that you TELL me what was in that letter..." 

So nonchalance in the face of adversity was NOT one of her strong suits.

"You wrote him a letter?! Oh my, this is adorable..."  Loki lifted his foot onto his opposite leg.  If he'd had popcorn, he would have been gleefully popping it into his mouth right about then. 

Darcy sighed, figuring she might as well come clean. Natasha was on HER side, after all.  "I told him not to worry and not to come back to the palace.  I told him I wasn't marrying Loki and that everything would be over soon."  There were a few more ‘I love you’s in there, but that was the basic gist. 

"Dammit, Darcy..." Natasha smacked the table, rattling the china.  Making both of them jump. 

Darcy huffed.  She was sick of all of this.  She’d been good. She was doing everything they asked.  She just couldn’t get on board with lying to the love of her life.  "Look.  I know YOU don't have any feelings about anything ever...but I couldn't just tell him I didn't love him and that I was marrying someone else without explaining things.  I can't lie to him, Natasha." She folded her arms, hardening her jaw. 

Natasha sighed.  "It's only for two weeks." 

"I don't care.  I can't lie to him.  Plus, he wouldn't have believed me." 

"It's true.  He's very persistent..." Loki added.  "That's a good trait in a man.  Persistence." 

Natasha shot Loki a look that could have frozen boiling water.  Instantly.  He didn’t seem phased, one of his eyebrows twitched slightly.

"Did Jasper see?" asked Darcy. 

"No.  No.  Of course he didn't.  His head is too far up his own ass to see anything other than his breakfast." 

Darcy breathed a sigh of relief as Natasha shook her head.  "This is going to complicate things, you know that."  It was a statement of fact.  No question.

"Not more than if he'd been running blind.  I know Pietro.  You don't know him." 

Natasha grimaced.  "Let's hope you know him as well as you THINK you do." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xoxo-Next week is another SMUT CHAPTER!!!


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo! Finally! The big huge chapter where pretty much everything happens! A coup! Lots of running! SEX! YAY!
> 
> A super-sized chapter! Over 7K words. Dannngggggggg, y'all. 
> 
> There is punching! Arrests are made! Lovers reunite! 
> 
> There is dress ripping. Because buttons are for losers. I've literally written a bodice-ripper and I'm not even sorry. (P.S, I know that dresses with a lot of buttons will usually have a hidden zipper somewhere...this one doesn't, just let us have our bodice-ripper...;) )
> 
> Also, there is smut. Glorious smut. There is virginity-taking happening in this chapter. I tried to make it as realistic as possible, but...having said that...Pietro is very prepared and his wallet is a utility belt. Also, he loves Darcy and does everything he can to be sure that everything is perfect for her. <3 He's the first time we all wish we had. <3\. 
> 
> Little something about my layout in this chapter. I had to ASoIaF this chapter with character headers. Simply because I switch back and forth so much that I kind of had a hard time remembering which POV it was, which probably means I suck, but whatever. POV headers to help you out there. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to heyfrenchfreudiana for her lovely betaing. <3 
> 
> Also, special thanks to Leftennant for listening to me whine and complain about all the revisions I made to this chapter

**Pietro**

It ended up taking him until the day of the wedding to get into the palace.  It wasn’t for lack of trying either.  They’d really stepped up the security and all the entrances Darcy had shown him were guarded.  Plus, they wouldn’t even let him in to visit her anymore.  They sent him away at reception.   It was almost like they didn’t want anything interfering with the wedding.  Weird.  

Clint was the one who came up with the idea of how to get past security, much to Wanda’s chagrin.  But it was fool-proof. Pretty much.  If Pietro acted like he was there to deliver a package, they would probably let him in.  All the better if he HAD packages to deliver to the palace.  Especially on the day of the wedding.  

Which was why he was in his work uniform on his day off,  bribing one of his co-workers to give him their route.  He was sporting a new shorter haircut at the bequest of Wanda.  She’d smartly pointed out that they probably were looking for a guy with long hair.  And while he regretted doing it the instant the first clump of his hair hit the bathroom sink, he  _ did _   look different.  He should have gotten Wanda to do it in retrospect, because there were some uneven spots around his ears, but he was going for speed, not looks.  Anyway, it would grow back.  That’s what he kept telling himself.   

And as he counted out the hundred and fifty bucks with which he’d bribed his coworker, Wade,  he realized that he was probably…no,  _ definitely _  going to get fired for this.  He might as well just turn in his resignation now.  

He tucked the stack of packages under his arm and parted ways with Wade, who was contemplating how to spend his ill-gotten gains while Pietro’s heart was already thumping in his chest.  He could hear the roar of blood rushing in his ears as the reality of what he was about to do sank in.    

Clint was waiting in his car down the block so he wouldn’t have to walk the whole way to the palace.  Probably a good idea, considering he was already sweating bullets from just completing the bribe.  

“You know, those shoes aren’t management approved…” Clint said, nodding down at Pietro’s blue and purple trainers as he ducked into the car.     

Pietro shrugged.  “I run better in these…I have a feeling I might need to run.  If…you know…” he trailed off and let his head hit the back of the seat.  “If I get caught…holy shit…what am I doing?”  

“You’re doing a stupid, stupid thing to go help out your girl.”  

He gulped.  Yes.  Yes.  Darcy.  This was for Darcy.  He could do all the stupid things in the world for Darcy.  His heartbeat slowed. The A/C in Clint’s car felt good on his face.  He raised his arms over his head because like hell he was going to go into this smelling like sweat and B.O.  That was the smell of fear and if he wasn’t mistaken, that bastard Jasper Sitwell could smell it a mile away.  He had to remain cool and collected if he was going to waltz into the motherfucking palace on the day of the royal “wedding”.    

The drive took a lot longer than he’d been expecting, the traffic in town was absolute insanity.  So when Clint finally pulled over to the curb down the street from the palace gates to let him out, Pietro was practically vibrating in his seat.  Clint grabbed his arm before he got out.  “Look.  Just,  _ when _   you get arrested…use your one phone call to call me, okay?  I’ll try to bail you out if I can. And if you can play the insanity card…that might help a little.  You know…just…tell them the aliens made you do it and instruct them on the correct way to wear foil hats.  Keep it up till I get there.”  

Pietro rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence…”  

“Ehhh, you don’t need anymore of that.  You need pragmatism…”  Clint bent forward to look up the road to the palace.  “Are you  _ absolutely _   sure about this?  She said it’d all be over after today…”  

Pietro pointed up towards the palace. “If it was Wanda up there…would you let it go? Would you sit on your ass and do nothing?”  

Clint chuckled, shaking his head.  “Nah.  I’d be running in there…metaphorical guns a’ blazin’…” He clapped Pietro on the back.  “Good luck, Man.”   

“Thanks…” Pietro grabbed the stack of packages from the backseat and started his long walk up to the palace.  He had to check himself several times and slow down.  Running with packages would look suspicious. And he was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.  Just your average, basic, normal guy.  Bad haircut and no distinguishing features whatsoever.    

The delivery went down without a hitch.  No one recognized him with the short hair. And he talked as little as possible.  Stuck to “thanks” and “sure”, which were the two words he could fake a neutral accent with.  The whole scenario kind of made him wonder a little about how many of these employees had actually looked at him at all.  

After he’d pocketed his tip, it was easy to slip down the opposite hallway.  There were still roaming guards, but not nearly as many.  He just walked through the door like he was supposed to be there.  No one stopped him.    

He was running the floor plan of the palace through his mind while he waited in the entryway for the pair of guards to pass him and turn the corner.  He’d gone on numerous “tours” with Darcy, and even though most of those ended up in clandestine encounters in dusty rooms that no one used, he could still make his way around the ground floor with little pause.  He knew the shortcuts to keep from being seen, as well as hiding places in case of actually  _ being _  seen.  All thanks to Darcy and her endeavor to make out in every room.  He had to smile because god, he loved her.  

He waited until the coast was clear and then took off in the direction of Darcy’s room.  He got as far as the first turn before running smack into Natasha, sending both of them flying backwards onto the floor.  

This was the one thing he hadn’t really planned on.  Having the “big guns” roaming the halls instead of actually  _ with _  Darcy or Prince Loki.  He scrambled to his feet, but so did she, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back.  She twisted hard, making him grunt as she led him into an empty room.  He was cursing his rotten luck and wondering why he had been so stupid as to think that Darcy’s body guard wouldn’t be on the lookout for him, when Natasha released him, sending him smack into some antique armoire. He spun around, ready to fend off whatever Natasha threw at him and wriggle out of her grasp like a snake if he had to.  

She moved quickly, right in his face, jabbing her finger hard against his sternum.  Her eyes were wide, puzzled.  An expression he’d never seen on Natasha’s face before that moment.  She was usually so calm. So collected.  “What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed.  

* * *

 

**Darcy**

Darcy was shaking.  It was lucky she had a stylist here to do her hair and makeup for the wedding, otherwise she might go out looking like a raccoon.  She’d already tried to fill in her eyebrows with her eyeliner pencil.  Groucho Marx was not a good look for her. Just something to note.  

It almost didn’t seem real.  This whole entire day.  She’d started off with a stomachache.  Even though she knew that everything was going to go down without a hitch.  Natasha had gone over the plan in excruciating detail, leaving absolutely nothing to chance.    

Pietro hadn’t done what Natasha had expected.  He’d stayed away from the palace, and Darcy could sleep better knowing that he wasn’t upset with her.  

Well…he might still be upset.  But it wasn’t irreparable damage at least.  It was hopefully something that a lifetime of kisses would make up for.  Because that’s what she was giving him when she saw him next.  

After hair and makeup, she’d put on the white lacy undergarments that had been in a bag beside the dress. She’d been almost unsure of whether or not she should wear them, considering it wasn’t a real wedding.  But they’d been delivered with the dress and Natasha had raised an eyebrow and shrugged.  It was all to keep up appearances, she supposed. Because her groom certainly wasn’t going to peel her out of her dress afterward.   She almost snorted in laughter at the thought of Loki doing such a thing.  And, if she was being honest, it almost seemed sad _not_ to have some kind of special underwear under this dress.  This utterly beautiful fake wedding dress.   With all its zippers and buttons.  Good lord the buttons.  When she got married for real, she was going with something with far less buttons.  They were pretty, but they were uncomfortable as hell and they took forever to actually BUTTON.  There was a tool that her stylist/wedding “assistant” (she didn’t know what to call the woman who’d bustled in with the dress, with hair products and a practical SUITCASE of make-up) had used to button her up, but she’d packed that back up with the rest of her stuff and Darcy didn’t think it worked in reverse anyway.  

What if she was stuck in this forever?      

That was silliness.  Of course she’d be able to take off the dress.  Of course.  

She took a deep breath.  Just pre-fake-wedding jitters.  That’s all it was.  And possibly her restricted breathing because of the unrelenting bodice of the dress.  And the wedgie she had from this white thong she was laced into.  Seriously, it was a thong with a ribbon sash and when it was untied, the thong would like…fall off, she guessed.  Who the hell thought up this stuff?    

When she got married for real, her dress was going to be comfortable. Well, probably not.  But it wouldn’t have this many buttons.  She checked her hair and makeup once more in the mirror before standing up.  Her hair was down in loose waves, tumbling midway down her back.  She really did look beautiful, if she said so herself.  And she was.  For someone who was practically-throwing-up levels of nervous, she looked pretty damn good.    

Now it was just a matter of walking down to the chapel.  She’d walk down the aisle, get to where Loki was standing…and the sting would happen.  They’d get a signal and then she AND Loki would both back out of the wedding.   

And then, there’d be a scandal surrounding the wedding, why both participants called it off, etc, etc.  

And in a couple of weeks, something else would inevitably happen and she could go back to publically dating Pietro and Loki could go back to publically dating his boyfriend and it would all be over.  Just some silly blip in the social page every now and again.  She could officially abdicate and then she and Pietro could go start their happily ever after unencumbered.  This was the plan.  The happy, beautiful plan that she had gone over with her parents, with Natasha…over and over again.  That was really all Darcy wanted to think about:  seeing Pietro.  God, she wanted to see him so badly.  She missed him.  Painfully. Too much.  This just wasn’t a good thing at all.  To miss someone this much.  She didn’t ever want to be without him for this long ever again.  

Her parents arrived, dressed in their best.  Which was saying something.  Because…the king and queen’s best was like, the bestest best there was.  Dad was looking more tired than ever in his formal regalia.  Mom, also exhausted, in a gorgeous lilac gown.  They were quiet, understandably so.  But all Darcy wanted was to talk.  She babbled about nothing.  About everything.  About all the stuff in between.  About how the dress was stiff.  About how her shoes were pinching her feet.  The minutes ticked by until the time when Natasha would be here to escort them to the chapel.  

Darcy babbled to fill the silence and Dad kept checking his watch.  Looking at the door.  Because Natasha was late.  She was supposed to be here by now.  She was ten minutes late.  This wasn’t the plan and it was making everyone nervous.

Dad stood, offered an arm to each Darcy and her mother.  “We’re going now,” he stated, nodding once like it was now law.  Darcy didn’t know what else to do but agree, and her mother looked like she wanted to puke into every potted plant they passed as they exited Darcy’s chambers and went out into the hallway. They turned to go through to the atrium, keeping up a steady pace.  Not too fast, not too slow.  Darcy just sort of wanted to break away, run out the door and down the front steps.  Just run and run until she got to Pietro’s apartment.  But she didn’t.  Somehow, she stayed put.      

When they arrived in the atrium, it was to general noise and a panicky feeling.  The atmosphere in the this part of the palace felt weird.  Darcy’s stomach started rolling, automatically going to the worst possible case scenarios.  Jasper found out what was happening and ran off…something had happened to delay the wedding…thus delaying the sting.  She glanced nervously around the room, noticing only one thing out of place.  Or one thing in place that normally wasn’t.  

A rather familiar blue and purple sneaker.  Just the one. 

Her heart leapt into her throat.   _Pietro. He’s here._  She wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad news.  She felt it was maybe a little bit of both.  

She heard the approach of people and took it upon herself to quickly hide the shoe under her skirt, stepping forward to stand on top of it. Mom and Dad quickly flanked her, shooting a look between them as the pursuing party approached.  

It was led by one of the kingsguard, who approached them, smoothing the front of his uniform.  “King, Queen, Princess…” he bowed his head.  “I do apologize…there’s been a bit of a…” he trailed off, trying to find the right words.  

“Misunderstanding…” Natasha provided, walking up beside him, dipping her head as she approached.  “Some of the flowers have been delivered to the wrong part of the palace…” She arched an eyebrow knowingly.  “We’re rectifying that as quickly as possible.”  

_Flowers…flowers…that was code for something…_ She was kicking herself for letting her thoughts wander when Natasha was hurriedly whispering different code words into her ear that morning.  She nearly yelped when she remembered.   _Flowers…flowers mean Pietro.  He’s in the wrong part of the castle…whatever that means…but Pietro’s here!  He’s here and Natasha knows and he’s okay and…_  Her stomach calmed back down to only thundering stampedes of butterflies instead of pillaging hordes.  

Dad grunted.  “See that you do.  I want everything perfect.”  

“Please…” her mother added.  “Make sure everything’s JUST as it should be.”  

“Of course, Your Majesty…”  Natasha bowed briefly before she started to leave again.

“Nat, wait!  Can you…” Darcy gulped, “Check…my…shoe?  I feel like it’s unbuckled…”  She quickly lifted her skirt and Natasha knelt down, taking the shoe and tucking it under her arm.  

“Looks good to me…” she said with a small smile.  “You look beautiful, Princess.  And don’t worry.  I’ll have your flowers delivered to you as soon as possible.”  

Darcy nodded, feeling tears pricking the back of her eyelids.  She was so ready for this to be over.  “You feel…confident that…they’ll be here soon?  And that they won’t be…damaged…or wilted?”  

Natasha patted her shoulder.  “They’ll be just as you remembered them…”  Her eyebrow arched slightly and she shrugged.  “Mostly.”    

* * *

 

**Pietro**

“What the hell are you doing here?”  Natasha hissed.  

“What do you THINK?” he asked, jerking out of her grasp. “I’m here to help Darcy.”  

Natasha sighed, covering her mouth and nose with her hands for a moment.  “You know, she told me you weren’t this stupid.  I should have known she was idealizing you…”  She took a deep breath and let it out.  

He frowned, “Excuse me? What—?”  

“Darcy told you to WAIT.” 

“I can’t just sit there and—”  

“Sit there and trust her?”  She was pacing.  Her brow knitted, trying to think, but also not so deep in thought as to allow him to get away without tearing him down a few notches.    

He opened his mouth and closed it again.  “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her…I just…I— I trust her.  I just couldn’t sit still and wait.  I mean…do you have any idea how much I’ve—”  

Natasha’s eyes flashed, she held her hand out.  “Shut up…just…shhh…”  He did, eying her for a second before she spoke again.  “Got it.  Okay…you’re here, Maximoff…you want to help? You really want to help?”  

“Yes?”  he answered, gulping nervously.  

“Look, this is all too complicated to explain quickly, but I’ll try.  We need to trap the Sitwells.  There’s a sting.  The Stanicilian royal family is in on it.  The Asgardian royal family is in on it.  That’s what the wedding is.  A distraction.  They’ll be arrested today and the wedding will be cancelled…it was supposed to be all hush-hush, but that’s changed now.  We’re outing the Sitwells.  We’re outing the sting.  It’ll mean a messier cover up, but…that’s where we are now.”  

His eyes widened as all the pieces started fitting together.  “Right…okay…where do I come in?”    

She smiled, looked almost proud for a second before continuing.  “You like running, right?”  

He shrugged.  “I mean, I was almost on the Olympic team…I don’t know what that has to do with anything…”  

“Are you of the hundred-yard-dash-type or the distance-type?”  

“…Both?”  

“Good. Now listen…I’m going to have you run through these halls.  I need you to do it for exactly thirty-six minutes.  Can you do that?”  

He nodded, “Sure…but why?”  

“I’m going to send the Sitwells after you.  You run.  Lead them on a wild goose chase for thirty-six minutes.   After that, take them to the chapel.  The sting will happen there.  They’ll be arrested.  Then, it’ll be all over.  You can be reunited with Darcy, blah blah blah, happily ever after.”  

He bit his lip, frowning.  “What happens if they catch me?”  

“I’ll tell the guards so they won’t be trying THAT hard to catch you.  So just…don’t get caught by Jasper. Or Colin.  But…that goes without saying.  Jasper’s your only real threat.  Colin’s ancient. Just…don’t get caught.”  

“Don’t get caught…” he echoed.  

“Great.  I’m going to give you a thirty-second head start.  Turn left when you go out of this room.  Do you remember how to get to the chapel?”  

“I’ll figure it out…” he assured her, already stretching his legs, preparing himself for the run. He usually liked longer than this, but hopefully his legs wouldn’t cramp up or anything.  He reached into his pocket to set his phone alarm for thirty-six minutes later.  

Natasha looked like she didn’t really believe him.  “It’s just north of the atrium…the front hall is south of the atrium.”  

“Okay…” he said impatiently, hopping slightly, his hand on the doorknob.  “Thirty seconds from when I start running?”  

“Yep…”  

“Alright, see you on the other side, I guess.”  He turned the knob and took off, his sneakers squeaking on the floor as he counted down the seconds in his head.  He thanked his past self for having the common sense to start running again.  And that’s practically all he’d been doing since Darcy gave him the note.  Trying to get into the palace and running.  Just running everywhere.    

At thirty seconds on the dot, he heard Natasha’s voice yell into her radio, “Code Dasher!  I repeat, we have a Code Dasher in the east wing!”  

He smirked and sped up.

It was all pretty smooth sailing for the first twenty minutes or so.  He did a couple little “dances” with a few of the guards, who were moving so sluggishly, it was almost insulting.  It was when Jasper started running after him that it got interesting.  

Looking back on this later, he could have reasonably told himself to just keep going at the pace he had been.  To not let what Jasper was yelling get to him.  But he couldn’t help it.  

“Just face it, Son…” Jasper huffed as he rounded another corner, he was a quicker on his feet than Pietro had expected.  “You aren’t good enough for her.  Tell me you know that.  Tell me you don’t think you deserve to be with a Princess. With a Queen.” 

Pietro skidded to a stop, he turned, his eyes narrowed as he took in the man standing in front of him.  Chest heaving, out of breath.  The smell of sweat permeating the designer tux he was wearing.  He thought about arguing his case.  He thought about trying to explain to him that of course he knew he wasn’t good enough for her.  That no one on earth was good enough for Darcy.  But he’d damn well TRY harder than anyone else to be good enough.  He’d spend his entire life trying to be good enough.  And wasn’t that better than some uppity royal who deigned to think they already were?  But no.  It would be wasted breath.  And this stupid shit was going to jail in a few minutes anyway.  His mug shot would look great with a broken nose.  

_ POW! _

His fist smacked into Jasper’s nose loudly.  He felt the satisfying crunch, the sharp pain in his knuckles.  He grinned through the pain and shook his hand rapidly, turning to continue running.     

And fell forward onto the stone tile, his hands hitting with a loud smack.  He scrambled to stand, and felt a tugging at his foot.  A quick glance revealed that Jasper, with his caved in face, had grabbed ahold of his shoe.  It took all of five seconds to wriggle out of it, dashing forward towards the atrium.  

He heard Jasper curse.  Heard the shoe hit the floor out in the atrium.  He laughed and barreled onward. 

The next few minutes went by without a hitch.  He successfully lead a bloody faced Jasper and most of the palace guards right where he’d been directed to. 

There was sweat pouring off his face when he ran up the north hall.  The home stretch.  His phone alarm beeped just as he skidded into the chapel.  

It was kind of perfect timing, right as the officiant said, “If anyone objects to this union…”  

Every face in the chapel turned to look at him.  There were gasps. But he didn’t really register anything after he caught Darcy’s gaze.  She was beautiful.  A vision in white and lace.  Her hair fell in waves down her back, her eyes were the brightest thing in the room.  Blue and glimmering in the light.  Her lips parted; she mouthed his name as they spread into a smile.  He grinned back at her, probably looking like an idiot and he didn’t even care.  He found his voice as his feet started moving again, bringing him closer to her, “I do…I object to the union.  That’s not the man for you, Guska.”  She let go of Loki’s hand, taking a step towards him.    

“NOT SO FAST!”  Jasper called out, skidding to a halt in the doorway, pointing his finger at Pietro.  Except his nose was broken, so it sounded more like “NOT THO FATHST!”    

Darcy’s father, the king stood up, causing everyone else in the room to stand as well.  He extended his arm, pointing his finger seemingly right at Pietro.  “I want that man arrested!” 

(More gasps ensued.) 

“YETH!”  Jasper agreed.  “Awethst him.”  

“Not him…”  The king waved flippantly at Pietro, who took the opportunity to back up out of the way of the condemning finger point.  “YOU, Sitwell.”  

And the look on Jasper’s face was Pietro’s second favorite thing about that day.  The look of utter astonishment.  Betrayal.  Anger.   The indignant stammer.  Made all the more sweet by the bloody nose and the nasal pronunciations that caused.   

“WHAT?”  

That look coupled with the front row seats to the arrest of the decade.  The details of which Pietro couldn’t really remember.  Because he was too focused on something…no…someone else.   But that was only his second favorite thing of the day.  

His actual favorite was, well…the look on Darcy’s face when he’d skidded into the chapel…and every interaction with her after that.    

* * *

 

**Darcy**

The next few hours were a blur.  Lots of questions.  Lots of interviews.  

The arrest had been very public, despite Natasha’s attempts to keep it otherwise.  However, it wasn’t causing them to take the detrimental hit to approval ratings that anyone had predicted.  Quite to the contrary, the public seemed excited at the prospect of political upheaval, and doubly excited at the thought of change on the horizon.    

Not that Darcy really cared one way or the other because the entire time she was answering questions, the entire time she sat there in her very uncomfortable wedding dress, she was holding Pietro’s hand like a lifeline.  And every so often, she’d look up at him, catch his eye and he’d smile at her. Stroke her hand with his thumb.  Clasp it both of his.  Squeeze it reassuringly.  

With his new haircut.  Well, the second new haircut.  Her stylist had appeared out of nowhere when the hustle and bustle of the arrest had come and gone.  The people in the chapel had been ushered out and there was her stylist, clucking her tongue and pushing Pietro down on the steps in front of the alter.  She’d come at him with the scissors, muttering under her breath in a language neither Darcy nor Pietro understood, somehow fixing the hack job he’d done on his hair that Darcy was absolutely going to tease him about later.   

The stylist had also patted at Pietro’s face with concealer.  Pressed powder.  Rouge.  Until he was sufficiently camera ready.  He’d squawked indignantly, trying to bat her away, but the tiny woman and her powder puff prevailed.  It was so cute that Darcy couldn’t help but laugh.  And with the laughter, came the threat of the tears that she’d been holding in for the better part of the day.  She was just so damn happy to be with him again, and her emotions were all over the place. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him.  A million kisses.  And…other things.   Other things that included ripping his clothes of and pressing her naked body against his.  She wanted his hands all over her.  His lips.  But…they were in public.  And in a chapel.  It was going to have to wait.  She wanted him all to herself when she kissed him next.  Because she wasn’t going to want to stop kissing him.    

It took hours, but after the interviews were over and the statements were taken, they were given the all clear to leave.  

She kissed her mother and father goodbye, both of them hugging Pietro for a little longer than she was willing to relinquish him, but it made her happy to see their apparent acceptance of him.  Especially after the emotional roller coaster that had been the past two weeks.  Pietro blushed deep red when her mother kissed his forehead, her hands cupping his face as she whispered something that only he could hear.    

They exited the chapel, meandering down the hall, hands clasped and their eyes only on each other.  It was no surprise that they ran into someone.  A couple someones.

Natasha approached, handing Pietro his shoe.  “Here you go, Cinderella.  Hope it fits…”  She smirked and departed, giving a nod to Loki, who was walking in the opposite direction they were. 

He had his jacket slung over his shoulder and looked as tired as they were. He extended his hand towards Pietro, shaking hands before reaching into his pocket.  He pressed a card into Darcy’s hand.  “The honeymoon suite that was booked.  Seeing as my beau isn’t in the country…I thought you might make better use of it than I would…”  He winked and grinned, taking his leave as he leisurely walked away.  

Darcy glanced down at the keycard in her hands, unsure if she should be appalled or excited.  It really depended on whether or not she was going to deny that she’d been contemplating the idea of going to town on Pietro in the bedroom she’d grown up in.  

His grip had tightened on her hand and she glanced up, looking deep into those eyes that she wanted to lose herself in.  “Wanna get out of here?” she asked, tapping the card against her palm.  

“Hell yes…” Pietro grabbed her hand with a grin, pulling her after him.  

* * *

The hotel room was opulent.  But it was an afterthought, something they’d notice later.  For the present, Pietro’s eyes were only on her, and Darcy couldn’t manage more than a muffled squeak when the door clicked shut because his arms were around her.  She kissed his mouth like it was life-giving.  And for her, in that moment, it was.  

She stood on her tiptoes, Her hands clutching at the front of his shirt, bunching it up into her fists as she moved her lips against his.  She reached down, tugging on the hem and he stopped her, breaking off the kiss.  “I need a shower…I stink.”  

“After…” she murmured.  “Take a shower with me after…I need you now…and you don’t stink…you don’t smell great, but you don’t stink.” 

He chuckled, his face reddening a little.  “We don’t have to…”  He raised his eyebrows.  “Don’t feel like you have to just because—”  

“I want you…” she assured him, running her fingers through what was left of his hair and looking him dead in the eyes.  “I want you, Pietro.  Today.  Tonight.  As soon as we get undressed…and again after that…and again…and again…” she punctuated each ‘again’ with a kiss.  

He slid his arms around her waist, picking her up and spinning her around once. “I appreciate your faith in my stamina…but I am not sure I will be able to oblige that many ‘agains’…” 

“Guess you’ll have to owe me…” she leaned up to kiss his neck and she felt the tension drain from his shoulders, his hands creeping around her back to tug at all the buttons.  

He’d only gotten a couple undone by the time she’d sucked a purple bruise onto his throat.  She could feel him, hard against her stomach…and his breath came out in small gasps, his hands still fiddling with the godforsaken buttons.  

“Are you attached to this dress?” he asked.  “It’s not an heirloom or something, is it?”  

She shook her head.  “No…and no.”  

The rip of the fabric took her by surprise.  The buttons popped off and went rolling around on the hardwood floor, and the dress fell away to a pool at her feet, leaving her standing there in her strapless bustier and white lace-up thong.  

She heard his breath catch in his throat as he drank her in and she took advantage of the momentary lull to wrap her arms around his shoulders and jump onto his front.  He caught her, kicking the dress out of the way and carrying her to the bed.  

He set her down on the edge of the mattress, and leaned over to kiss her lips, his tongue plundering her mouth. She clutched at his shirt, yanking it up and over his head.  He let it fall on the floor at their feet and didn’t stop her when she reached for his belt.  She undid it slowly, popping open the button and unzipping the zipper, tugging his pants down over his hips. He kicked them off and away.   

She rubbed her hand over the bulge in his boxers, letting her thumb wiggle slightly over the head.  He covered her hand with his, pulling it away and kneeling down in front of her.  

He spread her knees delicately, scooting between them.  He rose up and kissed her neck, reaching around behind her to undo the row of hooks on the back of her bustier.  It took him considerably less time than the dress would have taken, but she was practically aching for his touch by the time he tossed the lacy garment aside.       

Her nipples were already hard and she moaned when he swiped his thumbs over them.  Moaned louder when he kissed his way down her chest.  Sucking one into his mouth while his thumb swirled over the other.  He switched sides and she canted her hips towards him, reaching for his other hand and placing it on the big bow on the back of the thong.  

Pietro released her breast, raising his eyebrows as he gently tugged at the ribbon, untying the bow and pulling off her panties at the same time.  “This is quite possibly the best present I’ve ever unwrapped…”  

She blushed, giggling a little when he leaned down to kiss her belly button.  He moved slowly south, peppering kisses all over her skin.  

She inhaled sharply when he kissed the crease of her thigh, spreading her legs to give him better access.  He let his tongue glide up and down each thigh crease, flicking ever so lightly at her labia before running up the length of her slit.  She shook when he did it again, and again…wriggling over her clit on both the up and down sweep.  He stayed there a little longer each time, swirling lightly over the tense bundle of nerves.  Never enough to do more than tease her.  

She propped her weight on her hands and whined each time he did it.  His finger prodded her opening, gliding through the slick he found there.  Pressing ever so slightly into her and withdrawing again.   Pressing in again, this time further before withdrawing.  All the while, he teased her mercilessly with the tip of his tongue.  

Darcy leaned over on one hand, reaching up to play with her breasts with the other.  She let her fingertips dance over the stiff peaks, mimicking the way Pietro’s tongue danced over her clit.  

He had one finger inside her, working her open for a second.  She was soaking his hand.  Dripping onto the bedspread beneath her.  

The second finger went in without a hitch, pushing up to the third knuckle easily.  He stroked her from within.  Hitting that spot that made her yelp.  The spot that made her come. 

Her toes were curling into the carpet as he flicked his tongue lightly against her clit, holding off when she got too tense.  When her moans got too breathy.  

The third finger breached her opening, meeting some resistance.  Not much, but some.  He worked them in slowly, letting his tongue speed up a little more on her clit.  He lapped at her, using her moans to gauge how close she was, letting his fingers work her open more for him.  

Darcy nearly jumped off the bed when he hit that spot inside her again.  She couldn’t really believe he’d done it, he’d never gotten three fingers far enough inside her to hit that spot. 

Her hand went to the back of his head as he lapped and sucked at her clit, bringing her closer and closer to release.  She could feel the spring coiling inside her and her moans got louder because of it.  

He groaned against her and that’s what did her in.  Sent her spiraling into an orgasm so intense that she pulled his hair, her walls clamped down hard on his fingers, and her toes cramped with how hard they were curling.  

She let go of his head, falling back flat on the mattress.  She couldn’t talk for a moment, but he was there, rubbing his hands up and down her thighs before crawling up on the bed with her.  

He scooted up to the pillows and she followed him, leaning over to kiss his lips and tasting herself there.  “I love you…” she whispered.  

“I love you too…” he smiled crookedly and reached down to push off his boxers.  “You still don’t have to do anything…” he whispered.  “If you don’t think you’re ready…it’s okay…”  He licked his palm and reached down, encircling his cock with his hand.  He moved slowly up and down his length, his eyes never leaving her face.  “I can take care of it…”  

She shook her head.  “I want this…” she reached down to roll her thumb over the slit on the end, making his hips jerk.  “I want this inside me…”  She leaned over to kiss him again.  “I want this with you…”  

He nodded, “Okay.” He sat up and leaned forward, grabbing his pants from the floor at the bottom of the bed.  He pulled his wallet out of the back pocket, producing two foil squares from inside.  One, Darcy knew was a condom the other was…”Lube,” he answered her quizzical look.  

“I’m fairly…” she whispered the next word, “WET…I don’t think we’ll need that…”  

“I don’t want to hurt you…” he leaned over and kissed her again.  “You need to be really wet…this will help…”  Her heart was pounding as she watched him lay back.  Watched him roll the condom down over his length…watched him open the lube and squeeze it up the shaft.  He wrapped his hand around himself then, his eyes squeezing shut as he spread it all over, his hand making a wet squelching sound.  He reached for her, his eyes dark and inviting.  

“I don’t know what I’m doing…” she murmured as she crawled over to him.  

“I think it’d be better if you were on top, you can control how fast things go…” 

She nodded, liking the idea immediately, because it was the one hang up she still had.  

She was shaking as she climbed on top of him, but then again, so was he.  He had his hand still wrapped around his cock, and she rose up on top of him, letting him guide the tip inside her. 

She gasped at the intrusion, her eyes squeezing shut.  

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice sounded strained, almost like he was in pain, but not.  

“Yes…” she answered.  “I’m fine…are you okay?”  

“Yes…please look at me…” he murmured, his free hand squeezed her thigh reassuringly.  She looked down, into his eyes.  His eyes that were blown wide with lust, and at the same time, they searched hers. Trying to gauge her reaction.  God, he was beautiful.   

She pushed herself down a little more, sliding easily.  Nothing hurt, it was all just so…strange.  She felt _f_ _ull_.  Different than when it was just his fingers. This was _more_ somehow.  Bigger, sure…but also smoother.  The more she relaxed, the better it felt.  She rose up, pressing down again slowly, feeling tears gather in the corners of her eyes. Not from pain, but from something else entirely.  “Pietro, I love you…” she whispered.  

The hand he had wrapped around the base fell away and he reached for hers, lacing their fingers.  Grunting softly with every slow thrust of her hips.  “I love you, Darcy…you feel…so good…so hot…you’re so warm…”  

She was surprised when her hips pressed snugly against his, she was expecting it to hurt more, getting him fully inside.  He gripped her hands, his thumbs stroking along the backs.  

“Are you okay?” he repeated, his eyebrows raising a little.  

She nodded, “Mmhmm…”  

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“No…no…it feels…not good…but not bad either…?” she grinned.  

He returned the smile, “I’ll try to make it good for you, _Guska_ …”  

She moved experimentally, rising up and pushing back down.  A soft “oh” escaping when she did.  “What does _Guska_ mean?” she asked as she repeated the movement, earning a muted groan from him.  

“Goose…” he answered, releasing her hands and grasping her hips instead.  

“Are you kidding?”  

“No…”  

“You’re calling me a _goose_?”  

“It’s a term of endear—let’s…have this conversation later?  Maybe…I’m not…really…at my best right n—oh god… _Ježišmarjá_ ”  Darcy smirked as she sped up her movements, delighted to see she could elicit a reaction from him. “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” he asked, his hands now gripping handfuls of the comforter as she slowly moved up and down on top of him, shallow movements, because she was worried he was going to fall out of her if she raised up too high and the last thing she wanted to do was bend his…his…member or something.  That didn’t seem fun or sexy at all.  

“It doesn’t hurt,” she reassured him.  

“Do mind if I drive for a while?” He smiled up at her, running his hands up her thighs.  

She gulped, squeezing around him involuntarily at the thought.  “I don’t mind at all…”  

“Okay…” he sat up, spreading his legs and knocking her back on her butt, he pulled out for a second but pressed back into her when he was on top.  He moved one of her legs experimentally, bending her knee and pushing it back, checking with her every so often to make sure he wasn’t hurting her.  

He wasn’t.  

And with the next thrust of his hips, she moaned.  He kept a slow pace, constantly checking with her to make sure she was fine.  

God, she was fine.  More than fine.  Not…TOO much more than fine, but she was moving into “good” territory.  What he was doing felt good. 

He sped up a little, still holding back, if the way he was biting his bottom lip was any indication.  His cheeks were red, his eyes dark.  

“I’m close…” he huffed, his eyes searching for and holding her gaze.  “I’m close…you feel so good…”  

He kept pulling back, slowing down and then speeding back up, only to slow down again.  Trying to hold back.  

“Pietro…Pietro, you’re amazing…don’t stop…please…”   

His eyes squeezed shut when he came, his hips stuttering into hers, her name on his lips, barely a whisper.  

“You’re beautiful…” she murmured, pulling him down for a kiss.  

“I think that’s my line…” he mumbled against her lips, kissing her once more before slowly pulling out, noting her visible wince.  “Are you okay?”  

“Yes, Weirdo…the wince was from my leg…” she looked down where his hand was still holding her leg back.  

“OH!”  He released it, his hand immediately massaging her hip.  “Sorry…”  

She shook her head, “It’s okay, I just need to start up yoga again…”  She  swung her legs to the side and scooted to the edge of the bed, standing and walking on wobbly legs towards the bathroom.  “You said something about a shower?” she called over her shoulder, another idea forming when she saw the bathtub. The enormous marble bathtub.     
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Let me know in the commentsssss, I live for your comments. <3 
> 
> Two more chapters to go! And the angst is no more! Smooth sailing from here, folks!


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time. Really just kinda wrapping up some loose ends. Happy fluffy times. <3 
> 
> Epilogue is next. Almost done! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to heyfrenchfreudiana for beta reading this for me. <3

Pietro grabbed her hand, tugging her close for a kiss. The darkness of the parking garage was one of the only places the paparazzi couldn’t follow them. Once they stepped out onto the sidewalk, they’d be bombarded with cameras. And as much as he didn’t really care who saw them “canoodling” in public, it was nice to have privacy too. Pseudo-privacy…given that her security detail was always around. Always with them. Well. When they were out and about, anyway.

It honestly surprised the hell out of him, how much he didn’t care about things like the paparazzi and being in all the papers. How much all of it was just white noise. A dull buzz in the background.

She slipped her hand into his, grinning widely as they exited the garage. None of it mattered. Because he was the one who made her smile like that.

And when he looked down at her, he couldn’t help but smile just as wide. He stopped and kissed her again, this time in front of the cameras. He kissed her so hard, she was blushing when he pulled away. She clasped his hand in hers and tugged him along, down towards the soup kitchen, which was where they were headed.

He slipped his other hand into his pocket. Checking to make sure the velvet box he’d stuck in there that morning was indeed _still_ there. His heart beat faster when he thought about what he was about to do. What this meant for them.

It had been almost a half a year since what was now dubbed the “Queen-Bee-Sting-Wedding”. It had made headlines, obviously. But not for obvious reasons.

For one, it had been the first time that the royal family had taken part in a sting operation of that magnitude.

For another, it was an international scandal, since it involved an Asgardian prince as well.

And true, the Sitwells  _had_  been locked away in a glitzy white-collar prison for their crimes, which they’d been convicted of just a few short weeks before. But they were locked away for a  _long_ time. Long enough that it might as well have been a life sentence for the older Sitwell. And Jasper was going to be an old, old man when he finally saw freedom again. If anything was to be learned from this, it was to never EVER screw over the Lewis family.

Of course, the second the news broke, it became old news. As was the way of gossip columns, in Pietro’s short time of being acquainted with them. And the next big thing was Pietro. When were he and Darcy going to tie the royal knot? The people were clamoring for another wedding since they were denied one so recently.

And Darcy swore up and down that theirs wasn’t going to be a royal wedding. That she was going to abdicate her title. Or at least, she was going to abdicate her ‘Princess’ title.

As Pietro understood it, Darcy wasn’t a princess because of birthright, but because the title had been bestowed upon her when she was still a baby. The king had the right to name his successor, and to bestow that successor with the title of “Prince” or “Princess”. Stanicily’s kings and queens of the past had usually bestowed the title on their heir. There had been only one other time in history when a bloodline heir wasn’t available, and the widowed queen had named her cousin as the “Prince of Stanicily”.

Darcy’s only title by birthright was as the Duchess of Atlas. Atlas was a large expanse of land in the northern part of the country. There was a large estate, even a township. When and if Pietro married her, he’d become the Duke of Atlas by marriage. Which, was a huge ordeal in and of itself. They’d have some responsibility in the community, but no more than the mayor of Atlas township or the governor of the region. And most importantly (according to Darcy), that responsibility was completely optional. They wouldn’t even have to live on the estate if they didn’t want to.

However, Pietro had a sneaking suspicion that Darcy didn’t want the responsibility of Atlas for a completely different reason.

He could tell by looking at her. By seeing how she worked with the people. With the way she’d suddenly become so interested in the inner workings of the High Council.

She was a ruler. She wanted to rule. And for whatever reason, she thought he didn’t want her to.

He’d already decided a while ago, that whatever ride Darcy was taking in this life, he’d be right there with her if she’d have him. He’d stand behind whatever she wanted to do. Because in all honesty, he was a bike courier who had no idea what he wanted out of life, other than to help other people back on their feet when they fell. He could do that as a bike courier. He could do that as a Duke. He could do that as anything.

But Darcy. Darcy was a leader. And a damn good one at that. He’d listened to her talk with her father. She’d practically become one of his most trusted advisers in the wake of the Sitwells. There were a few others. Some who’d gone to college for finances or public relations. But Pietro had watched, time and again, as King Mark went directly to Darcy for her opinion on matters of state.

She knew when to defer. When to delegate. And when to stand her ground. She was just what this country needed.

And as someone who’d grown up here under practical Sitwell rule…well…Pietro felt pretty well versed in the problems Stanicily faced. The country needed her. Someone who could laugh and smooze with foreign leaders. Someone who could (and would) stoop to help someone in need. Someone who he’d seen take off her own coat to wrap around a shivering woman in one of the poorer parts of the capital city. Someone who rolled on the floor with puppies in the shelter, to make sure they’d be socialized enough to find a home. And because, well…who wouldn’t want to play with puppies?

If someone had told him a year before that he’d be contemplating marriage to the Princess of Stanicily, contemplating supporting her as she became  _Queen_ of Stanicily. Well…he’d have laughed in their faces.

Not because Darcy had changed. No. She hadn’t changed. She was the same sweet, kind hearted person who’d looked him up to make things right after her driver had hit him with the limo.

No, it was him. _He’d_ changed. He’d opened his heart, opened his eyes. Opened his mind to the possibility of more than just black and white. Rich and poor. Royal and commoner.

And it was because of her. He was a nicer, better person because of her. She made everything she touched better. Why on earth would he ever deny her anything?

He touched the ring box again. Grounding himself as they entered the soup kitchen. Hand in hand.

The ring was special. Not because it was really expensive, or covered in expensive jewels or anything. Although the sapphire in the main setting was real. That much he knew.

No, it was special because it was the only thing he had left of his mother’s. It was the last thing he’d grabbed when he and Wanda ran from the rubble that was their home so many years before. Back in Sokovia, his mother had worn this, the ring his father had proposed with, on a chain around her neck, tucked under her shirt so no one would try to steal it from her.

And when she’d died, Wanda had placed it, chain and all in the top drawer of her dresser. Beneath the folded up handkerchiefs and sachets.

He’d remembered it as an afterthought when they were leaving, and it had lived in his dresser ever since.

He took it to the jeweler down the street from SHIELD to have it polished and resized. It was then that he was informed that the stone in the middle was indeed a real sapphire.

Not that it made any difference. Regardless of the stone, it was priceless. And he hoped Darcy would like it. He couldn’t really afford anything else. And he didn’t want to accept the loan her father had offered when he’d gone to him to ask for permission to propose.

The gesture might have angered him at one point in his life, but he could recognize empathy and compassion when he saw it. And if King Mark was anything, he was compassionate. The first thing that he’d done upon the Sitwells’ arrest was to amend the outdated law that only nobility could marry nobility. He’d sniffed loudly, stating that the royal bloodlines needed some changing up. The motion had passed unopposed by the High Council.

Pietro bounced a little, causing Darcy to look up at him, arching an eyebrow. “You okay there, Slick?”

He smiled, “Just excited.”

She grinned back up at him. “Me too.”

And he had to laugh, because she was one hundred percent talking about volunteering. She was excited to go chop onions or mince garlic or more likely, seat people and talk to them. God, she loved talking to everyone who came here. Volunteer or otherwise. She knew a lot of the regulars by name. And there had only been a few negative interactions with some embittered people down on their luck. She’d handled every one of them with grace and dignity. Even going so far as to apologize to one man who blamed the aristocracy for everything wrong in his life. If Pietro was being honest, the man sounded a LOT like Pietro used to sound.

Darcy had simply shrugged it off. “Not everyone’s going to like me.” Even though Pietro honestly couldn’t see what there was to DISLIKE about Darcy. But he supposed she was right. It was the practical way to think about things.

And well,  _he_ liked her anyway. A lot. He loved everything about her. And he was chomping at the proverbial bit to ask for her forever.

He already knew it was going to be a public proposal. Because he wanted to do it in the place where she’d changed his mind about her. Where she’d fallen into his arms and he’d fallen for _her_.

“Wanda!” Darcy called out to his sister, waving and wrapping her arms around her when she made her way over. “I didn’t know you were off today!”

Wanda grinned, “I had a schedule change…thought I’d spend the day volunteering…” She grinned up at Pietro, who was pretty sure he was flushed red as a beet. His stomach rolled and he followed both of them out to the dining room.

It wasn’t until after the meal had been served that he had time to plan his approach. She had just finished talking to one of the coordinators, who’d asked her to fill an empty chair on the board. She politely declined the offer, stating that she felt she could do more if she were physically here.

Pietro walked up behind her after the man had gone, slipping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

She folded her arms over his. “Are you ready to leave?”

“No, not yet. Just wanted to ask…you know…why you keep saying no to all these offers? You’d do well in a position to make decisions.”

She laughed, shrugging. “I don’t know. None of them feel right.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Is that because…you have something else in mind? Maybe something with more perks? A title? A crown?”

She turned in his arms, finding and holding his gaze. “Piet…please don’t worry about that…Sweetheart, I don’t want to rule.”

He smiled, “Yes you do.”

Her eyes welled up, “But I don’t have to.”

“Yes you do.”

“No, I—I don’t want to put you through that.”

“Put me through what? I am here for the long haul, Guska.”

“Pietro…”

“Is this what you want, Darcy? Do you want to be queen?”

She was silent for a long moment before nodding her head. “But—”

He shushed her, reaching into his pocket and dropping down on one knee. “Darcy…will you allow me the great honor of standing behind you as you rule this nation? Standing beside you as we raise a family? Standing WITH you always? Will you marry me?” He opened the box, which creaked loudly. It sounded like the loudest thing in the room at that moment. No one else was talking. Everyone was holding their breath.

A tear slipped down her cheek. “This is really what you want, Pietro? I’d marry you anyway, you know that, right?”

“I know. But what kind of a husband would I be if I didn’t support you in all things? Of course I want this. I want you. And this…this is you. Ever since I fell in love with you, I’ve never had a second thought. Why would I start now?”

She exhaled, more tears dripping down her cheeks. “Are you sure?”

He laughed, feeling tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “I’m entirely sure. Darcy, let me spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you.”

“You deserve…” she trailed off, sniffing loudly. “You deserve someone who will give you everything.”

“You do,” he insisted. “And I’m only asking for one more thing…” he plucked the ring out of the box, holding it out to her. “Marry me?”

She nodded. “Yes. I will. I will…” she held out her hand and his were shaking so much, he almost couldn’t get the ring on her finger. It slid on perfectly, looking absolutely beautiful on her hand. “You’re sure, though, Pietro? You’re sure?”

He nodded, rising up to kiss her amid the roaring applause that was suddenly filling the room. “I am so completely sure…” he murmured, cupping her face before he kissed her again.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well. Here we are. The epilogue. 
> 
> This has been so much fun! I've really enjoyed writing this fic and sharing it with all of you. 
> 
> World building has always been my favorite part, and I think that's why I enjoy AUs so much. 
> 
> Anywho, without further adieu...here is a smutty little epilogue for you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed. Because I wanted to post right away. All mistakes are mine.

**Three Years Later...**

* * *

 

Darcy sighed heavily, easing herself into the chair with all the grace of a beached whale.  She let her hand rest atop her rounded belly and stretched her legs out in front of her.  Her feet weren’t as swollen today, but she also hadn’t really been pushing herself as much. 

Growing a human was hard work.  And she was the queen.  She was running a country.  And this…the human growing...was the hardest thing ever. 

It was difficult to make it to council meetings when all she wanted was to take naps all the time.  It was difficult to do dinner with diplomats when the smell of whatever they were eating was making her sick. 

This little fetus was calling the shots already. 

She and Pietro were _so_ in for it. 

As if on cue, he entered the room, shutting the doors behind him.  He was mostly dressed.  Suit pants.  Suspenders. Tie draped over his shoulder.   He looked…so…

Yummy.

Except…he couldn’t be yummy because they had a dinner thing to go to.  A dinner thing that she was supposed to be getting dressed for, but all she’d managed to do was to get undressed, throw on her bathrobe and sit down. 

“Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked with a grin.  “I mean…I know it’s black tie optional, but that MIGHT be pushing the envelope.”

Darcy responded by stretching her legs out more and shifting to take the weight off her hips.  She was having one hell of a sciatic nerve problem, and it had begun at conception, it seemed.  “Your spawn wants to stay home.” 

“Alright, we’ve heard from the spawn, now what does my wife want to do?” 

She arched an eyebrow suggestively.  “What do I always want to do?” 

He reached for her hands to help her stand.  “I don’t know if we have time for _that_ …” 

“Can we just stay home? This isn’t SUPER important, is it?” 

He shrugged, “You were the one who wanted to schedule two dinners in two days.  I seem to remember that both Natasha and I tried to stop you…” 

Natasha’s stint as interim advisor to Darcy’s father had turned into a full-time occupation when she’d stepped up to the throne.  King Mark had stepped down a year before due to health problems.  Two secret heart attacks in the past five years, plus a failed stress test had convinced Darcy that the time had come to take over for her dad.  He deserved to retire and relax.  Not die ruling a country.

“Yeah, well…we couldn’t very well MISS your sister’s and Clint’s engagement party, could we?  What kind of a sister-in-law would I be if I missed that?”  

“Wanda would have forgiven you. Wanda loves you.  More than she loves me, I think.” 

Darcy rolled her eyes.  “Well…can we get out of tonight, anyway?  This is just the dinner party with Kate and Tommy, right?” 

“I hate to remind you of the “Queen” card, but…I feel like you forget that sometimes.” 

“I’ve never missed a single appointment, though…” she whined. 

“Darcy.  You are six months pregnant.  You are growing a human being.  I think everyone will understand…”  His hands rubbed her shoulders.    

“Really?  They’ll understand that I’d rather stay home and bang my husband than sit and eat shrimp cocktail and play charades with the Duke and Duchess of Heinsburg?” 

“Maybe we’ll leave out the part where you bang your husband…” Pietro said with a wink.  “Let’s keep that between us…” 

“That’s where I like to keep that…between us…” she reached for his suspenders, tugging him close enough to kiss. 

They’d been married for nearly three years now.  They’d done the whole big televised wedding thing.  And then they’d done the whole honeymoon on a private island thing.  And then they’d come back and done the whole married life thing. 

And now, they were doing the whole baby thing.

And to be honest, she fell in love with him more and more each day. 

He’d accepted all the titles they’d thrown at him, except the King title.  Even though it was tradition in Stanicily for the husband (or wife) of the ruling monarch to take the appropriate title, (in the case of her parents, her mother had married her father and become Queen by marriage to the King), Pietro had refused it. 

“I am no king,” he had said adamantly. He retained the title of “Duke’, and of “Prince”, but he did not add “King” to the list, much to the chagrin of everyone else.  He was pretty much the most beloved person in the kingdom, second only to Darcy herself.  Together, they’d helped improve the economy in their tiny country so much that the unemployment rate had to be enlarged on pie charts to be visible. 

Local businesses were booming.  Exports were at an all-time high.  The experts were calling it a Golden Age for the country.  Not that she was bragging or anything. 

The Sitwells remained in prison.  Darcy made sure they weren’t being mistreated, but that was really all the more information she cared to have about them. 

She had much more _pressing_ matters to attend to.  Like her husband’s lips.  And hips.  And tongue. 

Pietro’s lips moved steadily against hers as he reached down for the sash on her robe.  She stopped him.  “Wait…shouldn’t we tell Natasha to cancel our plans?” 

He pulled out his phone, shooting off a quick text to Natasha.  “Done. Anything else, or are you mine for the evening, _Guska_?” 

She smirked.  “All these years and I’m still a goose?” 

“You’re my goose…you’ll always be my goose…” he murmured against her lips, reaching once more for the sash at her waist. 

She sighed as the robe fell from her shoulders and she sank down onto their bed. “Yeah, okay…I’m yours.  Yours am I…”   His hands ran smoothly over her belly and she felt him press a kiss right above her belly button.  She reached for him, sliding the suspenders over his shoulders and moving on to unbutton his shirt. 

His scent was intoxicating.  She wasn’t sure if it was because she was pregnant or if she’d always been this thirsty for the way he smelled.  She was guessing probably not, if the way he laughed when she pressed her face to his throat and inhaled was any indication. 

“You smell so good…” she whispered, tugging on the button of his pants.  On the fly.  She needed his skin against hers.  Too many clothes…too many. 

“Well, I did just shower…” He reached down to push her panties over her hips.  “Where do you want me?” 

Her hands were slowly pulling down his boxers.  Her lips pressed kisses onto each inch of exposed skin.  She shifted slightly, her lower back twinging and reminding her of that dumb sciatica thing.  “Behind me…” she answered. He inhaled sharply when she yanked his boxers down the rest of the way.  His erection bobbed in their wake. 

This position worked wonders for her lower back pain.  Not to mention, it kind of got Pietro all hot and bothered.  More than kind of.  There was a way to position themselves on the bed, where the mirror behind her dresser was visible…and he just…

Damn, it was good lovin’.  It was always good lovin’, but…in this position…yeah.  It was _GOOD_.  All the spots got hit.  It was _very nice_. 

His lips met hers again as they crawled up the bed.  His eyes were dark and roved up and down her body as she moved into position on her hands and knees, jamming a pillow under her hips.  His fingers brushed against her, sliding in the slick that seemed to be constantly there.  She was in a near constant state of arousal lately.  Aching and wet with it. 

He coated two fingers and slid them down to her clit.  Making her jump when he brushed them over it. 

He leaned down behind her, pressing soft kisses against her before his tongue flicked out at her clit. 

She was loud.  Well, she was always loud, but it seemed like she was louder lately.  All her pregnancy research told her that it was because of increased blood flow to that area.  Whatever it was, she was thankful. 

He hummed against her, his tongue licking at her clit while her thighs shuddered. 

It never took long, not unless he was deliberately teasing her to drag it out. 

Neither of them seemed in the mood to drag anything out tonight, though. 

She moaned loudly when it hit.  Making her muscles tense and release.  Fluttering rapidly as he released her with a tiny pop, rising on his knees to line up behind her. 

His hands caressed her hips as he pressed into her.  Her breath caught in her throat as he slid his hand up her back.  “Okay?” he murmured. 

“Yeah…” she answered, almost a moan in itself. Because yes, it was more than okay. 

He started out slow, gradually increasing in speed until the wet slap of his hips hitting hers was a constant and his grunts were in time with his thrusts and the whispered swears in Sokovian almost did her in because of how he looked when he whispered them. 

They’d been together for years and she couldn’t get enough of the way he looked when he was inside her.  That was NOT a pregnancy thing, she was sure of it. 

She praised whoever was listening for the invention of a mirror so she could witness all the sexy hotness that was her husband when he was fucking her from behind. 

She reached between her legs, rubbing lightly at her clit because fuck if she wasn’t close again.  He was hitting that sweet spot.  The one deep inside her.  The one that made her toes curl. 

She came again.  Softer than before, but still intense enough to set him off. 

His rhythm stuttered, his breath caught.  Her name tumbled from his mouth as he sped up for just a few thrusts before stopping all together. 

He pulled out and she rolled over to the side, giggling when he flopped down behind her, tugging her close and rubbing his hand absently over her belly. 

“You undo me…” he whispered in her ear.  “You are magical.” 

“Yeah?  Well, so are you…” She squirmed against him, rolling over so she could face him.  And then squirmed some more to finagle the blanket up to cover them. 

“Fidget much?” Pietro teased, leaning over to kiss her.  She could taste herself on his lips…faint, but there.    

“Really?  REALLY?  You wanna talk to ME about fidgeting, Sir-Squirms-a-lot?” 

He grinned and tugged the blanket up further over them.  “I love you.  Fidgets and squirms and all.” 

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy…” 

“I am.  So happy,” he affirmed. 

“Me too…I love you.” 

“Love you.”

And as Darcy dozed off, knowing full well that she’d have to wake up later to eat something, she realized that she had as close to a perfect life as could be. 

Pietro’s hand tightened around hers.

And they lived happily ever after.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there really a better way to end this fairytale? ;) 
> 
>  
> 
> For anyone who was confused or whatever...King Mark was in poor health, so he stepped down from the throne, allowing Darcy to begin her rule early. I did this because, well...it's a fictional kingdom that I created and them's the rules. Also, I didn't want kill off King Mark. There was already enough angst, so I made a creative decision. :) 
> 
> Also, I explained this pretty thoroughly in the chapter, but...Pietro didn't accept the title of King. In Stanicily, whoever is married to the ruling monarch (Queen Darcy) would get the title of "King" by marriage. But when Darcy is crowned, Pietro declines the title for his own reasons. I'll leave his reasons up to your interpretation. ;) He still retains the title of "Duke" and "Prince" that he got from marrying Darcy.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos feed the muses! 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](dresupi.tumblr.com)


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